1 



DISCOURSES 



PREACHED ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS, 



IN THE COURSE OF MINISTERIAL DUTY. 



BY 



REV. ROBERT McGILL, 

r ' 

MINISTER OF ST. PAUL'3 CHURCH, HONTREAI. . 



MONTREAL: 

HEW RAMSAY. 

JOHN ARMOUR, MONTREAL ; P. SINCLAIR, QUEBEC ; JOHN DUFF, KINGS- 
TON ; A. H. ARMOUR, AND CO., TORONTO. 



1853. 



CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Preface 8 — 4 

I. The Love of Country 6 — 23 

II. The Adthority of Law 27— 46 

III. God's Chastisement of Cities 49 — Y4 

IV. Respect for the Burying Place of the Dead. . T7 — 94 
V. On Graves : 

1st Sermon — The Cemetery 97 — 113 

2nd Sermon — Death — How came XT '? 117 — 133 

3rd Sermon— Death — What is it ? 137 — 152 

4th Sermon — TheDead — Where arethey? 155—179 

5th Sermon — Is the Child Dead ? 183 — 199 

VI. Death— The Fear of it a Bondage 203—224 

VII. Peace in Christ 227—242 

VIII. The Precedent Claims of the Spiritual in Re- 
ligion over the External 245 —262 

IX. The Religion of Feeling 265 — 279 

X. Christ — In Him was Life 283 — 315 

XL The Soul— A Book 819—337 



A 



PREFACE. 



Sermons are addresses delivered in an assembly of Christian 
worshippers to explain and enforce the great piinciples of truth 
and duty. "When once spoken in their proper time and place, 
they have answered their end, and the fruit is to be sought in the 
lives of the hearers, though both the preacher and his discourse 
be forgotten. 

Yet the candid will be disposed to accept an apology if, now 
and then, a preacher should present through the press the sub- 
stance of his reflections and admonitions, on subjects that may be 
deemed important. To those who have heard his discourses in 
the sanctuary, it may serve to revive fading impressions ; and to 
others who may favour it with a serious perusal in the printed 
form, it may awaken trains of reflection and feeling that shall 
fall in with other means and assist in forming the Christian 
character. 

The author knows enough of the labours of Christian teachers, 
to prevent his entertaining the idea that these discoiu-ses contain 
any thing that may not have been frequently said before. Writ- 
ten solely for the enforcement of doctrine, duty, and sentiment, 
among his own flock, he was content to seize that course of il- 
lustration which at the moment presented itself vividly to his own 
mind, without any concern whatever, whether he himself, or 
others, had previously expressed the same thoughts. Divine truth 
is the common inheritance of the Church of God. It loses nought 
of its intrinsic virtue by frequency of repetition. Its saving ef- 
fects from age to age is an abiding demonstration of its heavenly 
original. The sunlight around us is the same in its source and 



ir 

qualities, as that which brightened the dawn of mau's existence 
on earth ; it guides and cheers man still as it did then— so is it 
with the light of the glorious Gospel of Jesus Christ. Its antiquity 
and reiteration does not impair its value and efficacy. The con- 
solation which it has always imparted to the humble believer does 
not diminish, it enhances the consolation it imparts to — me. 

The first four discourses, suggested by local and temporary 
emergencies, were printed and published at the time they were 
delivered. They might, it may be said, have been permitted to 
pass away with the events which called them forth. And so 
they would, had it not been that they contain some sentiments 
which the author would willingly perpetuate in tlie memory of 
the reader. 



Montreal, 2d May, 1853. 



THE 



LOVE OF COUNTRY, 

A 

DISCOURSE 

PREACHED IN ST. ANDREW'S CHURCH, 
NIAGARA, 

OK TUESDAY, THE 6tH FEBRUARY, 1838. 

(a day appointed for public thanksgiving, on account 
of our deliverance from the miseries of the late 
insurrection.) 

Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain — 
Psalm exxvii. 

We everywhere find in the writings of inspired 
men a constant acknowledgement of the prov- 
idence of God, as exerting its watchful care, 
not only over individuals, but nations. To its 
gracious dispensation the pious and good have 
always attributed the peculiar blessings of their 
own condition, the prosperity of kingdoms, the 
security of empires, and the fate of battles. And 
surely it is consistent with all that reason can 
discover, and all that Revelation teaches of the 
character and agency of God, that He continues to 
watch with paternal care over the creatures whom 
He has so graciously distinguished by His choicest 
gifts — reason and immortality; for whom He sent 
His Son to suffer and to die ; from among whom 
He is selecting a chosen generation, a royal priest- 



6 



hood, to celebrate His glory in time, and to be un- 
utterably blessed in His presence throughout 
eternity. How conformable to reason and the 
Sacred Scriptures, that such beings, in all their 
interests and connections, should be the objects 
of God's providential care ! 

To fix your attention onthis consolatory doctrine, 
consider that the whole fabric of human society 
has been ordained and regulated by Divine wis- 
dom, and is consequently a legitimate object of 
Divine superintendence and government. The 
Creator, who knew that it was not good for man 
to be alone, has implanted in every bosom the 
social principle ; and its influence is felt through- 
out every period and in every condition of our ex- 
istence. This powerful and universal principle 
is among mankind what attraction is in the ma- 
terial world. It conjoins them into the intimacies 
of neighbourhood, the associations of friendship, 
and the ties of love ; and out of it arises the fabric 
of society, based upon the family relation, and 
rising up into communities, provinces, states, 
empires — the largest family division among the 
inhabitants of the World ; and over all the Lord 
God Omnipotent reigneth as Governor among the 
nations, — the King of Kings, and the Lord of 
Lords. 

Wherever God reigns. He reigns by establish- 
ed and equitable laws ; wherever He has pre- 
scribed duty. He has ordained a rule of duty. If 
He has rendered us accountable to His own tribu- 



/ 



7 



nal for our private, personal and relative conduct, 
He has also made known to us the rule by which 
we shall be judged ; and it ought to be our chief 
concern to ascertain what the Lord our God re- 
quires of us in these several relations. On this 
day set apart by our chief provincial Magistrate 
for solemn thanksgiving to Almighty God for His 
gracious deliverance from the miseries of con- 
spiracy and rebellion, it may not be inappropriate 
for us to consider one of the principal affections 
of a Christian citizen, viz. the love he owes his 
country, that a brief consideration of this affection 
may prepare us for a few observations on the pe- 
culiar evils by which we have been threatened, 
and the gracious providence of God by which 
they have been averted from us. 

The Christian citizen should love his country 
because it is his. God has created us with a 
tendency to form particular and local attachments. 
We love the homestead of our fathers, " where 
our young footsteps in infancy wandered ;" we 
love the village where we enjoyed our earliest 
friendships ; we cherish a particular regard to the 
country or district in which it lies ; and this regard 
extends itself to the whole realm of which our 
native village may form only a very insignificant 
part. We are conscious to ourselves that we in- 
dulge such preferences, and we feel that they are 
among the most agreeable of our sentiments. It 
is a matter wholly unimportant to us that men 
of other countries describe ours as sterile in its 



8 



soil, or changeable in its climate, or rude in its 
speech and in the manners of its people. We may 
in part, perhaps, admit the truth of the foreigner's 
description, and, yet after all, the heart's feeling 
may be — I love my own sterile land better than 
any other in the world, however luxuriant their 
fields or sunny their sky. How strong and deep 
are those local attachments in the millions of 
every land whom it would be impossible to al- 
lure from their native soil by any promises of 
gain that might be held out to them in distant 
climes ; who prefer to live and die within their 
native valleys, humble and obscure, rather than 
pursue the most flattering dreams of fortune upon 
a foreign shore ! How pathetically have we 
witnessed the strength of these local attachments 
exhibited in many of our own countrymen whom 
a stern necessity compelled to seek a home in 
this New World ! 

" Good heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that parting day 
That called them from their native walks away : 
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past. 
Hung round the bowers and fondly looked their last. 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 
For seats like these beyond the western main ; 
And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
Returned and wept, and still returned to weep !" 

How often does the wish prevail in the bosom 
of the exile, after long years of successful toil, to 
return to the scenes of his youth, that he may en- 
joy a happiness that he never enjoyed in all the 
period of his expatriation, and at length resign 
life where he first drew its breath, and be buried 



9 



in the sepulchre of his fathers ! These senti- 
ments of local attachment are natural to the 
human heart ; it requires violence to eradicate 
them ; and^ when to all appearance they seem 
dead, it is not in general difficult to fan them anew 
into life. God has so formed us, my fellow- 
countrymen, that this natural sentiment is not 
easily destroyed, because He has implanted it in 
the soul for a beneficial and necessary purpose. 
It is the source of that deeper interest which we 
feel in our neighbourhood and our country ; it 
prompts US, with the strong arm of patriotic love, 
to guard it from lawless invasion. We rally 
around our national banner, and contend pro aris 
et focis with emotions that rise in strength as 
danger threatens ; and, when blessed with peace, 
this natural sentiment of regard for our country 
makes us rejoice in its prosperity and honour. We 
delight to see it surpass all other lands in the career 
of improvement ; and one of our most fervent as- 
pirations is, bless my country, Heaven ! and 
make it truly great. These sentiments which 
nature inspires and which are sanctioned by the 
purest dictates of religion, are implanted and ap- 
proved by God, as the means of exciting and con- 
centrating our energy for the improvement of our 
fellow-creatures within that limited sphere where 
it may be most beneficially felt. Our influence can- 
not extend throughout the World ; although a few 
vain men have styled themselves " citizens of the 
world," the sphere is too wide for intense afFec- 



10 



tion and practical beneficence. But we can 
make our affection bear practically upon our own 
little neighbourhood — combined wtth others we 
may perhaps make it bear even upon a province 
— nay, when God has endued any one with the 
requisite gifts, he may stand up before the gaze 
of an empire as a sage, as a statesman, as a war- 
rior ; and the benefits of his genius and deeds may 
awaken gratitude and joy in its every cottage and 
its every palace. Thus the local attachments form- 
ed in early life give birth to the most elevated sen- 
timents and the noblest virtues. In the most em- 
inent men it becomes a passion, and under its 
dominion what enterprises, pregnant with good 
to future ages, hath not the patriot achieved ! 

It is not to be denied, however, that this pas- 
sion for one's country has, when not governed by 
wise and Christian principles, been productive of 
very pernicious consequences, especially when 
allied with commanding talent and eminent rank. 
It has inspired the lust of conquest — as if the 
groans of the conquered, and extended territory, 
were capable of augmenting national happiness. 
It has often fostered in a people ignorant preju- 
dices and vain boasting — as if the disparagement 
of other countries enhanced the merits of their 
own. It has sometimes led one nation to adopt 
restrictive laws, which, while they were little 
profitable to itself, were injurious to neigh- 
bouring states. But, because love of country has 
been thus misdirected, let us not forget that it is 



11 



entitled to an high place among the incite- 
ments of virtue. Imagine not that it must neces- 
sarily be associated with a dislike of other coun- 
tries. This indeed would be a melancholy per- 
version of the sentiment. What! — can I not love 
my own child with all that is tender and holy in 
parental regard, and yet love the child of my 
neighbour too? Can I not care and toil for the 
interests of my own family with a diligence that 
never wearies, and at the same time be free from 
envy — nay, rejoice, in the prosperity of my 
neighbour ? And can I not hear my country's 
name resounded in the plaudits of contiguous 
empires without wishing that these empires may 
be crushed that she may rise higher upon their 
ruins ? Far away be the barbarous and unchris- 
tian thought ! For, as my own family will pros- 
per best when the families around are prospering, 
so will my country prosper best when the coun- 
tries around are prospering. The bounty of in- 
dulgent Heaven is enough for all ; and the prayer 
that I offer to the King of Kings for " my own, 
my native land," must not be accompanied with 
one feeling of envy, or one imprecation of judge- 
ment on any part of His wide dominions. 

Although local attachment or love to country 
is a stroDg natural affection implanted by God 
for beneficial ends, and is distinctly sanctioned 
by the genius of Christianity, we sometimes meet 
with persons in whom this natural affection is 
nearly extinct. Beware, I entreat you, of draw- 



12 



ing the conclusion from such instances, that the 
affection is artificial, not natural ! Do we not 
occasionally meet with persons in whom the 
strongest natural affections are neaily, or perhaps 
altogether eradicated? Have we not heard of 
fathers who had ceased to love or care for their 
family ? — of mothers who felt no compassion for 
the infant they bore ? — of children who poured 
contempt on their parents ? — of husband and wife 
who cherished towards each other a mutually 
embittered hate? — persons in whom the well- 
spring of parental and filial and conjugal love 
had been dried up, as brooks with the drought of 
summer ! And is it to be deemed strange, con- 
trary to what we observe in respect to other 
natural affections, that love to our countrymen 
and our country should sometimes in like man- 
ner be destroyed ? Oh no ! the fact is melan- 
choly, but not strange ; for the affection with 
which we regard our country may unhappily be 
extinguished, as well as the affection with which 
we regard a parent. If a child permit himself 
habitually to look only at the defects of his fathers 
character — only at the instances of severity he 
has shown — if week after week these are magni- 
fied in his eye, and made the subject of invidious 
comparisons and insulting language — if he ac- 
custom himself to go round the neighbourhood 
loquaciously holding up to censure his father's 
failings and vices — say, would it be strange that 
filial reverence and love should be destroyed in 



IS 

the bosom of such a son? Would not even a 
natural affection, although implanted by God and 
commanded by God, utteily perish from the heart 
by such means ? And may the same not happen 
in regard to our love of country ? If we look only 
at what is unfavourable in its physical aspect, on 
its barren heaths, on its rocky and snow-clad hills, 
on its unequal and ungenial climate, on its long 
and dreary winters — ^would it be strange that the 
local attachment should be diminished or de- 
stroyed ? Or if, turning to its political institutions, 
we should regard only the friction and jarring of 
their imperfect machinery ; if week after week 
we should fix our attention only on what is faulty 
in its legislation, or defective in the framework 
of its constitution, or corrupt and selfish in the 
conduct of its rulers ; and, if these should be the 
subject of a constant newspaper reading, and the 
theme of endless talk in the family, and of excit- 
ing harangues when we assemble with village 
groups, in which mind imparts to mind a more 
embittered dissatisfaction — tell me, would it be 
at all wonderful that those who act in this way 
should destroy within their hearts all loveto coun 
try ; should be ready at any hazard to attempt its 
subversion ; or, if hopelessness or fear should pre- 
vent their attempts at insurrection, that they 
should go out exiles to other lands, soured and 
discontented with, or even detesting, the land of 
their birth ? And tell me, even admitting that 
such persons were correct in some of their judge- 

B 



14 



ments, would this blight of disaffection that hath 
come over their heart, withering some of its best 
sentiments, render them more amiable, more hap- 
py, more virtuous beings, as they left the home 
of their fathers in pursuit of Utopian excellence on 
foreign shores ? Ah me ! it is impossible ; for, if 
our earliest and dearest local attachments are 
thus rudely crushed and uprooted from the heart 
in despite of nature and the command of God, it 
will always, wherever be the place of our sojourn, 
feel the unsettledness of a stranger and a 
wanderer as soon as new scenes are bereft of the 
charms of novelty, and new political institutions 
have disclosed those imperfections which are in- 
separable from all that man has framed, and all 
that man administers. 

You will not conclude, my fellow-countrymen, 
from any thing that I have now said, that the 
love which an enlightened and Christian citizen 
bears towards his country should render him 
blind to its faults, or careless of its reformation. 
Nay, he may search them out with the most la- 
borious investigation ; he may labour to obtain 
their removal by the most strenuous efforts ; if 
he have devoted himself to public life, his whole 
heart and soul may be absorbed in this work ; 
and in defiance of obloquy and opposition he 
may consume himself in the toils and struggles 
of patriotic virtue. Such a course the illustrious 
Wilberforce pursued. He saw that his country 
was involved in the guilt of trading in human 



15 



beings ; the groans of innumerable captives 
reached him from innumerable slave-ships ; the 
crack of the slave-driver's whip, as it fell on 
its writhing victims, was carried over the waves 
to his ear ; his hand was stretched out to receive 
every record of the slave's miseries ; and year af- 
ter year did he rise up in the senate of his coun- 
try, and thunder his denouncements against this 
detestable traffic carried on in the British domin- 
ions under the sanction of law. Undismayed 
by the opposition of those in power, unseduced 
by the sophistries of those who pocketed the un- 
holy gains, he persevered in his career of philan- 
thropy. Long frustrated, he never fainted ; and 
age had whitened on his head, and infirmities 
had wasted his strength, while exposing amidst 
continued disappointments the iniquity of his- 
country. But did he cease to love that country? 
Did his abhorrence of that enormous crime, at 
which Britain long connived, render him incapa* 
ble of exclaiming, " Britain, with all thy faults I 
love thee still ?" Far from it ; for, though he knew 
the errors and sins of his country, he had studied 
well her excellencies too ; and these had impressed 
him with so deep an admiration that he could 
give no slumber to his eye-lids until he had wip- 
ed away the spots on his country's name. Im- 
agine not, Christian citizens, that love of country 
can ever render its possessor indifferent to its im- 
provement ; will ever make us connive at wick- 
edness, however high the power be that com- 



16 



mits it. Love always desires the perfection and 
happiness of its object. 

It cannot be denied that the affection of which 
we now speak has passed, during the last few 
years, as severe an ordeal in Canada as ever it 
passed through, perhaps, in any land. The causes 
which tend to its destruction have here oper- 
ated almost unrestrained. Political controversy 
and factious strife have long raged throughout the 
Province with unusual acrimony. Partisans on 
either side have not generally been guided by 
nice rules in the conduct of their warfare. We 
say nothing whatever at present on the merits of 
the questions agitated. My design is rather to 
show that the manner in which they have been 
agitated has had a great tendency to destroy that 
love of country which is essential to popular con- 
tentment. With what persevering industry, for 
example, have particular subjects of complaint 
been kept before the public eye ! How insidious- 
ly have they been magnified ! The most active 
portion of the daily press was constantly employ- 
ed in their dissemination. In many populous 
townships nothing was circulated but newspapers 
of the most pernicious description, vehicles of 
groundless censure and disaffection ; and recent 
events may lead us to infer that not a few have 
been led into the belief, that the whole of the ad- 
ministration of our public affairs was so incur- 
ably corrupted that nothing but the entire subver- 
sion of the whole frames work of our constitution 



n 

could bring a remedy ! Hearing nothing, read- 
ing nothing, talking nothing, save what went to 
criminate the officers of the state, and to expose 
the rottenness of its whole machinery — overlook- 
ing every thing in their lot which calm and so- 
ber minds would approve and be thankful for, 
we be suprised that they were wrought up 
to the frenzy of revolution, and that conflagration, 
and massacre and robbery were deemed very 
trivial sacrifices for its accomplishment! This 
state of mind was the necessary result of the 
means employed to produce it ; nor is there a 
government under heaven that might not be sub- 
verted by an effective use of the same means. 
Let its public writers tell only of its faults — let 
its public speakers always declaim on these — let 
the luxury and avarice of its officers be coloured, 
exaggerated, held up incessantly as objects of 
popular reprobation ; and such arts, plied for a 
few years without any correctives, would array 
opinion and physical force against any govern* 
ment, even the most perfect that the human im-^ 
agination can conceive. We must surely, there- 
fore, deem it the heaviest public calamity when 
those who are capable of directing public opinion 
direct it into a wrong channel ; when they fan 
the embers of discontent, so natural to the hu- 
man heart ; when they labour to involve law, and 
property, and personal safety in one common 
ruin* Alas ! there have been those among usj 
capable of better things, who have implicated 
b2 



18 



themselves in this heavy guilt ; and, had not God 
graciously interposed, the misguided, along with 
us who lamented their error, might have pain- 
fully suffered by the consequences. 

May 1 not take occasion from these remarks to 
remind you that a true and enlightened regard to 
our country should manifest itself very much'in 
the same way as we manifest regard for a friend. 
No man loves to hear the faults of his friend often 
and maliciously referred to ; no one can patient- 
ly hear his friend's character misrepresented or 
set forth only on the dark side. Granting that he 
has his faults, why should they always be held 
up to view while his excellencies are all conceal- 
ed ? Is not this manifest injustice, and would 
we not be guilty of conniving at it by listening 
to it in silence ? But it is an equal injustice to 
our country, and equally inconsistent with the 
love we owe it, to listen with patience or favour to 
such factious and evil-designing men as speak of 
nothing but its faults ; who are never warm- 
ed into pathos with any thing but some instance 
of mal-administration, and that for no other pur- 
pose but, by fomenting discontent, to make us 
the tools of their ambition ! Alas, there are not 
a few who yield to such men, and are gratified 
with their conduct. Deluded by their glozing 
lies, they are now disposed to treat the govern- 
ment of their country, not as a friend set to pro- 
mote their well-being, but as an enemy, whose 
every motion is to be jealously watched ! Let it 



19 



be acknowledged that it is the duty of the citi- 
zens of every free state, if they would preserve 
the inheritance of their freedom, carefully to 
watch the conduct of those to whom they have 
entrusted the management of public affairs : yet 
surely it ought not to be with the suspicion and 
jealousy with which we regard an enemy, but 
with the confidence and affection with which we 
regard a friend. While we reserve to ourselves 
the privilege of condemning what is wrong, let 
us cheerfully yield our confidence in doubtful and n 
difficult measures, and our approbation for the 
faithful services which the ofiicers of the ^state 
may have rendered it. This conduct is mani- 
festly just ; no Christian can recede from it. Had 
those who have renounced their allegiance to 
their country acted on such principles, they had 
saved themselves from disgrace and ruin, and the 
government from a shock which has made it tot- 
ter to its very base. 

Animated, as I trust we all are, with the de- 
sire of being guided by such principles, we shall 
be disposed, on this day of thanksgiving, grate- 
fully to acknowledge the providence of God in 
those events which have favoured the preservation 
of order and constitutional government among us. 
It is not possible for us, believing as we do, in 
the declaration of the psalmist, " Except the 
Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in 
vain," to overlook those very remarkable events 
by which the hand of the Lord hath wrought out 



20 



our deliveiance from all the horrors of rebellion 
and civil war. Can we doubt that He smote to 
the earth the fierce and blaspheming * leader of 
the rebel band, and spread indecision and fear 
throughout their ranks ? Can we doubt that He 
paralyzed all their subsequent opposition, and 
scattered them as chaff before the wind ? By 
what power hath the breath of winter been ren- 
dered mild as the morning of autumn, so that 
our lake has not been sealed up with ice, nor in- 
tercourse between distant places impeded ?— 
Have we not reason to see the hand of God in 
the harmonious assembling of the loyal and well 
affected throughout every part of the Province 
for the preservation of life and property, and 
constitutional authority ? And are we too sangu- 
ine in our interpretation of the ways of God 
in these recent events, when we hope that 
the storm hath purified our political atmosphere, 
and that hereafter we shall enjoy a freedom, at 
least from intestine political strife, which for some 

* We have it on the authority of an eye-witness, that the rebel 
leader, whose name we have no wish to perpetuate, met his 
death a moment after his utterance of a volley of profane oaths. 
A gentleman of Toronto, who had been taken prisoner on Yonge 
Street by the above leader, discharged his pistol at him, while in 
the act of making his escape. The shot missed the object at 
which it was aimed ; but, his horse being frightened, the rider, a 
corpulent man, lost his balance, fell to the ground, and broke his 
neck. This singular event disconcerted the plans of the insur- 
gents, and prevented the attack from being made on Toronto on 
Monday evening, when the diabolical desig-n could scarcely have 
failed^ as the inhabitants of the city were wholly unprepared to 
resist the assailants. On the following day the city was prepar- 
ed. Thus by the gracious interposition of God were conflagra- 
tion, maasacre, and rapine averted from the metropolis. 



21 

years we have not known. Would to God that 
the experience of the last few weeks, presenting, 
as they have done, a near prospect of civil convul- 
sion with its alarms and dangers, may lead every 
inhabitant of this colony to maintain the laws 
as the guardian of right, and the constitution as 
the ark of our security and the bulwark of our 
freedom. Then will our thankfulness to God 
manifest itself in appropriate fruits. 

Recognising God in His providence as the 
averter of these calamities, the bestower of these 
benefits, I ought not to conclude these remarks 
without making some allusion to the laws by 
which this providence is conducted, in reference 
to the well-being of nations— that these may 
serve as a guide to that love of country which, I 
trust, we all feel. Let it not be forgotten, then, 
that if we would wisely hope that God shall keep 
our city, shall preserve our cout^ry, it must be 
our care by every right means to propitiate the 
Divine favour. Oh, what title can an ungodly and 
profligate people have to trust in the protection 
of God ? — Is it not with nations^ as it is with in- 
dividuals, evil shall be to them that do evil ? — If 
throughout our land there shall continue to pre- 
vail that reckless indifference to the word 
and the ordinances of Christ's Gospel which so 
unhappily marks our provincial population ; if 
the religious education of the young shall con- 
tinue to be neglected as it has been ; if Sabbath 
desecration, if intemperance, if the low and be- 



22 



sotted pursuit of temporal things, if the contempt 
of intellectual pursuits shall continue to charac- 
terise our people ; — how can we hope that we 
shall be a people blessed of God? God has 
taught us in His Word, and in all the history of 
the past, that national greatness cannot be at- 
tained apart from national virtue ; that freedom 
can never be long enjoyed by a people devoid of 
intelligence ; that sin is the curse and reproach of 
any people, and by righteousness alone can a na- 
tion be exalted. Thus taught, have we not rea- 
son to dread the heavy judgements of God, when 
we consider what as a people we are ; and may 
we not tremble lesi the evils which have lately 
befallen us should only be the beginning of sor- 
rows ! 

In the humble sphere allotted to us in the dis- 
pensation of God — ^we may have but little in our 
power to promote our country's well-being. Our 
voice, our influence, is confined within a very 
narrow circle ; but we discharge the duties we 
owe to God and our country if we make that in- 
fluence felt for good within our own sphere, narrow 
thought it be. By the grace of God each of 
us may reform himself ; by care we may rec- 
tify our own opinions and amend our own life. 
Our example may be a guiding light within the 
circle of our friendship; we may educate our 
children to be consistent Christians and useful 
subjects ; combined with a few kindred spirits, 
we may be the means of preserving our own vi- 



cinage from him who goeth about to devour ; 
and, were the numerous hamlets throughout the 
land to become so many centres of a reforming 
influence, wisdom and the fear of God would yet 
become our glory as a people* Abundant reason 
have we to thank God for our connection with an 
empire whose history, reaching from very re- 
mote ages, is as bright as aught presented to us 
in the annals of nations ; whose present posi- 
tion is most honourably conspicuous among the 
kingdoms of the world. We are the subjects of 
a monarch whose only wish is our prosperity and 
happiness, and who wields a power capable of 
promoting them, so far as mere human power 
can promote them. Our Queen's Councillors can 
have no wish but that our dependence on the 
parent state may be for our advantage as her 
colonial subjects. We have received a constitu- 
tion conferring almost an excess of liberty on the 
governed ; and if, in these circumstances, aught 
of evil should remain, the remedy rests with our- 
selves. And we doubt not that this remedy will 
be applied. But let it be applied, my fellow- 
subjects, under the influence of that love of coun- 
try of which we have now spoken, and in the 
fear of the King of kings, to whom high and low 
among us are equally accountable. We shall 
thus always be saved from the wicked designs of 
ambitious and discontented men ; and our path 
in the ascent of empire may be worthy of the 
lineage from which it is our boast that Sve have 
sprung. 



THE AUTHORITY OF LAW: 

A DISCOURSE 

DSLIVEBED IN 

ST. PAUL'S CHURCH, MONTREAL, 

On Sabbath, 26th Atransx, 1849, 

(tHU OITT AUTHOaiTlBS HAVING A FEW DAYS BBFORK CALLED FOE AK 
XNEOLUENT OF SPECIAL CONSTABLES TO PROTECT THE PEACE OF THE 

CITY.) 



DISCOURSE. 



" The law is not made for a righteous man, but for the lawless 
and disobedient." — 1 Tim. i. 9 



The term " law" in Sacred Scripture is used 
in various senses. Sometimes it is employed to 
signify the entire system of Revealed Truth ; some- 
times it denotes the entire system of moral duty, 
o{ which the decalogue is a summary ; not un- 
frequently it signifies the Mosaic economy both 
in its civil and ceremonial regulations. In the 
text it is obviously used in a sense more restricted 
than any of the preceding, and denotes the 
criminal law of nations as it forms part of and is 
based upon the universal Moral Law — or the 
whole rule of duty which God requires of man. 

It is evident that the term law in the text 
must be used in this restricted sense, else the pro- 
position expressed in it would not be tenable. For 
of the Moral Law, in its wide and comprehensive 
import, we cannot affirm that it is not made for 
a righteous man. On the contrary, it was made 
for him ; it is his rule of duty. Obedience to it 
is an expression of his homage to God. His 
happiness depends on his conformity to it. It is, 
in short, the rule and measure of that righteous- 



28 



ness which is the distinctive attribute of his cha- 
racter. " Where there is no law, there is no trans- 
gression." With equal propriety it might be 
affirmed, where there is no law, there is no righ- 
teousness. The Moral Law, therefore, as it is an 
expression of the Divine image, a declaration of 
the Divine will in reference to human conduct, 
is made for all men. In it, as the prophet testifies, 
" He hath showed thee, O man, what is good and 
what the Lord thy God doth require of thee ; that 
thou shouldst do justly, and love mercy and walk 
humbly with thy God." " Of this law there can 
no less be acknowledged than that her seat is 
in the bosom of God, her voice the harmony of 
the world ; all things in heaven and earth do her 
homage ; the very least as feeling her care, and 
the greatest as not exempted from her power : — 
but angels and men, and creatures of what con- 
dition soever, though each in different sorts and 
manners, yet all with uniform consent, admiring 
her as the mother of their peace and joy." * 

But, without presuming to soar into the region 
of superhuman ethics, and confining our illustra- 
tion of this subject to what is revealed and appli- 
cable to man's condition, we may observe a dis- 
tinction in the nature of law as it is addressed to 
" a righteous man" on the one hand, and to " a 
disobedient man" on the other. The former is 
preceptive^ and presupposes the moral character of 



* Hooker. 



29 



the subject to be in harmony with the law ; the 
latter is prohibitory^ and presupposes the moral 
character of the subject to be adverse to the prohi- 
bition, and prone to disregard it notwithstanding 
the threatened penalty. Were the nature of man 
perfectly and immutably righteous, inclined in 
all things to do the will of God as expressed in 
law, there would be no need either oi prohibition 
or penalty : it would be enough that the Divine 
will should be declared in the form of positive 
precept, and the loyal and the loving heart would 
delight to obey it. But, because the nature of 
man is inclined to evil, the Moral Law, adapted to 
his fallen condition, often assumes the prohibitory 
and threatening form ; and in this respect it is 
addressed not to the righteous, but to the lawless 
and disobedient. " Thou shalt not take the name 
of the Lord thy God in vain ; thou shalt not kill ; 
thou shalt not steal ; thou shalt not bear false 
witness against thy neighbour." Thus the Law 
runs in the prohibitory style, because human 
nature, in its corrupt and lawless condition, is 
prone to treat the Divine titles and attributes with 
irreverence ; is prone to violence in the moment 
of passion, to cupidity when the opportunity of 
gratifying it is presented, to bear false witness 
against a neighbour when spite and malignity 
have taken possession of the heart. 

But, that we may reach the practical lessons 
we have more immediately in view, we shall 
consider the affirmation of the text with an espe- 
e2 



30 



cial reference to human laws— to the laws of 
one's own country — and especially to that part of 
them designed to prevent the perpetration of 
crime. Every one should be aware that this is one 
of the chief designs for which mankind are united 
into a political community ; that every man's per- 
son, and property, and rights, may in their per- 
fect integrity be secured to him ; that the evil- 
disposed and powerful, whether individuals or 
parties, shall not be permitted to wrong or oppress 
the weak ; that, if any wrong shall be done, the 
sufferer shall be entitled to appeal to the law, and 
the judge, and the magistrate, for the certain 
procurement of redress ; that the whole power of 
the commonwealth shall be brought into play for 
the protection even of the humblest individual ; 
and that for the vindication of its own well-being, 
for the fulfilment of its own duties, the common- 
wealth shall do its utmost, first to train all its 
citizens to know the law and to revere lawful au- 
thority, and, secondly, shall upon the lawless and 
disobedient inflict the merited penalty. All 
governments, whatever be their distinctive name 
or peculiar framework, are constituted for this 
end. They are worthy of praise and preservation 
just in the degree in which they attain it. If 
every man can sit without fear under his own 
vine and fig-tree — if none may presume to de- 
spoil him either of the shade or of the fruit — if 
none may come within the circle of his kindred 
to pollute, to betray, to injure — or if the lawless 



31 



wrong-doer who may have intruded upon his sanc- 
tuary, is made quickly to feel that the state will re- 
sent the wrong as done to itself and avenge it, — 
then one grand end for which civil government 
is instituted is attained, though mingled in many 
other respects with the imperfections which are 
inseparable from all human institutions. 

But the actual condition of society often pre- 
sents us with a very different picture — a picture 
such as that which our own city has for some 
time exhibited. Our citizens by the deeds, and 
still more by the threatenings, of the lawless and 
disobedient, have been kept in a state of feverish 
excitement and undefined fear. Riotous, or at 
least menacing, assemblages have been pretty 
much the order of the day, or rather of the nighty 
— for they most delight in darkness ; brutal 
assaults on the persons of the citizens have not been 
uncommon ; and the burning of property has of 
late come with such a frequency, and in such 
circumstances, as scarce any man can persuade 
himself to be accidental. To such a degree, 
indeed, had this proceeded that peaceable and 
well-disposed men were beginning to fear that the 
bonds of society were well nigh loosed ; that the 
foundations on which order is laid were well 
nigh broken up ; that the law had no vindicator 
and the magistrate no sword ; and every one 
looked with distrust and perplexity on the dark 
portentous cloud that had settled over our city — 



" a place without order, in which even the light 
was as darkness." 

Now, it is not needful at all that we examine, 
in this connexion, the various causes and pretexts 
that have been assigned for such a state of affairs. 
On this point various opinions, variously coloured 
by prejudices and passions, will be entertained ; 
and every man is at liberty to form his own, re- 
sponsible only to God for the care and integrity 
of his investigation. But in this judgement 
(appertaining to the duty of the subject, and not 
to that of the magistrate, the latter not being at 
present before us) we shall have the concurrence 
of Sill good men, that nothing can excuse or justi- 
fy, or even palliate, the lawlessness which we 
have to deplore ; — that, if we suffer in any degree 
from the commercial policy of the Mother Coun- 
try, or from unwise legislation in our own, tumult, 
riot, assault, incendiarism, can only prove an 
aggravation of the calamity — a bitter aggrava- 
tion, not only in its immediate, but in its remoter 
consequences. For who can shut his eyes on the 
fact, that up to the measure of its prevalence it 
tends to the disorganization of society, and to the 
utter demoralization of the parties who perpetrate 
or who abet these crimes ? These parties, at first 
feio — some dozen, perhaps, or more, combine to 
strengthen each other's hands in the course that 
may be resolved upon — led on by the most reck- 
less, as dictator — not scrupulous at al about the 



33 



characters of their accomplices, because they 
have paid little regard to the formation of their 
own, — not fearing God, for no one fearing God 
could be thus guilty, not caring much for the real 
welfare of their fellow-citizens, for no one having 
this care would wantonly scatter among them 
" firebrands, arrows and death." Has not every 
true Christian — every reflecting man among us — 
a deep conviction, that the perpetrators of such 
crimes do not come out from the bosom of Chris- 
tian families, trained in a reverence for God's 
Word, and uniting to offer up before Him the daily 
prayer; that they are not the members of our 
churches, known and recognised in that relation, 
and labouring to maintain a good conscience both 
towards God and towards man. 

And here it may be proper, for the confirma- 
tion of this sentiment, to observe that the term 
" righteous*'^ in the text is applied by the Apostle, 
as we think, with a reference to human govern- 
ments and laws, more especially to that branch 
of law which ordains the prohibition and penalty 
of crime. 1 In every Christian and civilized com- 
munity the great majority are " righteous ^"^"^ that 
is, they have an inward controlling sense of their 
own obligation to obey the law, and a strong 
inward aversion to any breach of it in the perpe- 
tration of flagrant crime. Were this not the case, 
society would speedily become disorganized — 
crime and anarchy would dissolve it as certainly 
as corruption does the animal frame bereft of 



34 



life, and almost within as short a time. It is 
not the fear of the magistrate, nor the parade of a 
mounted police, nor the more formidable array of a 
disciplined soldirey, that coiild preserve the fabric 
of society from self-destruction ; these are not 
prepared for the righteous man — he needs them 
not — they are no terror to him, — they are his pro- 
tection against the lawless and disobedient, 
comparatively few in free, enlightened, and well 
ordered communities. No, brethren, the fabric 
of society, being the institution of God, and de- 
fended by His overruling providence, is far better 
secured than by any apparatus of force and 
compulsion that the civil ruler may employ. 
There is implanted in the bosom of every right- 
eous man," using this term in the sense we have 
defined, a deep reverence for law and lawful 
authority; it grows up in his nature like an 
instinct ; it is strong even in multitudes, upon 
whose spirits there hath never come forth the 
more beautiful efflorescence of a higher morality. 
It is to this " law in the mind^^ we owe the mul- 
titude of towns and villages in every land, that 
have never been disturbed with a tumult— never 
polluted with a crime. It is to this interior law, 
strengthened by the higher principles of Christi- 
anity, that we owe the peace and order prevailing, 
unbroken sometimes for years and years, amidst 
the dense population of our larger cities, of whom, 
perhaps, it might be affirmed, (an affirmation not 
resting on mere conjecture, but on^ the statistics 



of city crime,) that not fifty could be found in fif-^ 
ty thousand, in ordinary times, recklessly disposed 
to combine in such atrocities, as even the best 
ordered communities are compelled, occasionally, 
to lament and deplore. And even in times of 
public excitement, from whatever cause arising, 
we are inclined to ascribe the enormities com- 
mitted, not to any change that hath come over the 
spirits of the righteous, who constitute the great 
body of the people, but to the bolder daring of the 
lawless and disobedient, who imagine that they 
can perpetrate their crimes with greater impunity^ 
when the public mind is discontented, and ma- 
gisterial authority weakened. This is the selected 
hour, when by the daring of a few, who are dis- 
posed to set at defiance " all rule and authority 
and power," it would seem that every man's life 
was in danger, every man's property unprotected, 
and freedom of speech and action lay at the mercy 
of an unprincipled antagonist. To speak or act 
in the defence of law and order is then held to be 
an offence against those, who for the time im- 
agine themselves free to work their own will with 
impunity, and to employ the obscure circulation 
of threatened outrage, and its actual commission, 
as the instruments of their tyranny and power. 
Though few in number, they may be active in 
mischief, and followed by a crowd of the idle and 
curious, who wish to be spectators of the fray, 
they flatter themselves that their conduct is ap- 
plauded, when injury is done to some one, against 



36 



whom the tide of popularity has turned ; and the 
odium thus raised in the track of the lawless 
and disobedient, is scattered on the bystanders, 
who may have an utter aversion to all fellowship 
with their unrighteous deeds. 

And on this peculiar feature of a riotous 
assemblage, occurring amidst a population of 
which the great majority are peaceably disposed, 
I found my first practical admonition. 

The " righteous" have nothing to do there ; 
neither they, nor their children, nor their servants. 
If they go there to see the fun, as it is sometimes 
called, such a gratification is paltry, and in many 
cases pernicious and culpable. Their presence, 
even as passive spectators, is often taken as an 
encouragement by those who are active in 
mischief. A laugh or a hurra from the crowd is 
a stinmlant to their lawless propensities ; it makes 
the timid daring, and the ruffian a hero ; and the 
crowd, all passive and innocent as it may think 
itself, is too often a cloud under which the evil- 
doer may effect a secure retreat. Thus, without 
reflecting on the fact, an amused and gaping 
multitude, who may be inwardly disapproving of 
the violence and outrage which they see com- 
mitted, may yet practically be the abettors of 
that violence and outrage, both by the encourage- 
ment which the perpetrators draw from their pres- 
ence, and the obstacle presented by their presence 
to the quick and effective discharge of magisterial 
duty. 



S7 

But besides these evils there is another consid- 
eration, which, if duly weighed, would go far 
to regulate the conduct of " righteous" men in 
such matters. It is not consistent with the duties, 
which they owe to the community, to stand by 
as idle, passive, and amused spectators when the 
person or the property of any citizen is assailed 
by the lawless and disobedient. In all free 
governments every freeman is a conservator of 
the peace ; and is, to the extent of his ability, the 
protector of the person and property of his fellow- 
citizens. The man, who would look quietly on, 
and see the incendiary apply his torch to a neigh- 
bour's house, or the ruffian maltreat his neigh- 
bour's person, who would give no alarm and 
offer no aid, — that man would be acting as much 
at variance with the laws of his country as with 
the law of God. If mere indiilerence restrained 
him, it were an indifference of which no good 
citizen could be chargeable ; if it were timidity 
or cowardice, it were an indication of a weak 
and dastardly spirit ; if it were done from sym- 
pathy with the perpetrator, or for the gratification 
of revenge against him who suffered the wrong, — 
morals, if not law, would hold him an accom- 
plice in the guilt. Nor will this judgement be in 
any degree affected by the circumstance, that the 
assaults, whether on person or property, were 
committed, not by one but by twenty ; not solita- 
rily but in a public tumult. The claim of the 
injured party is rather enhanced than diminished 



by this circumstance ; he is more entitled to the 
sympathy of the righteous; he needs more the 
protection of the magistrate ; his right is the 
stronger to compensation from the community at 
large, because of the failure of that protection 
which it has guaranteed to all its members on 
the ground of reciprocal duties and obligations. 

These principles of civil obligations and 
justice are in conformity with the municipal laws 
of Scotland, and, I believe, of England, in refer- 
ence to loss or damage done to property in popu' 
iar tumults and insurrection. The municipality, 
be it country, or city, or town, is bound to make 
good the damage done to property, on the ground 
that it had engaged by its proper officers and by 
the common integrity of its people, to afford 
sufficient protection and had failed. Andy 
though only a lawless and disobedierit few may; 
have occasioned the damage, the social contract* 
implies that the righteous many should keep in 
check the lawless few, and compensate as far as 
possible such injuries as may have been inflicted 
on the peaceable. And, if it be a righteous lawf 
that a community should thus be held bound to 
compensate for the loss of property destroyed in 
popular tumult, I can discover no reason why it' 
should not be equally bound to compensate fox 
injuries done to persons, and for the destruction 
of life. Justice and humanity alike plead, that 
she, who has been made a widow by the hand 
of popular violence, shall be maintained out of 



39 



the property of that eommunity who owed her 
protection; that children, made fatherless and 
destitute by popular insurrection, shall be sup- 
ported and educated at the public charge, as the 
only practicable mitigation of the grievous injury 
they have sustained. Or, to state this principle 
in still more explicit terms : the very design of 
civil government is to protect the life and property 
of the subject by the condign punishment of the 
individual aggressor, when the wrong is individ- 
ual, — without compensation in this case, because 
it is the duty of every individual to protect his 
own life and property against individual aggres- 
sion ; but, where the aggression is on the part of 
a vicious multitude, setting authority and law at 
defiance, too numerous to be repelled by indi- 
vidual force, or to be involved in a legal prose- 
cution and penalty for the procurement of redress, 
then should the entire community, involved, as it 
were, in the common guilt of failing to afford the 
stipulated protection, be involved also in the 
common fine by which the damage is to be 
repaired. By such principles both of ethics and 
of jurisprudence every individual is bound to 
lend his aid for the maintenance of public order, 
not only because it is right in itself, but because 
he himself is involved in the consequences. This 
i{9 nothing more than an application of the old 
principle to a personal and public duty, "Do 
unto others as you wish they should do unto 
you," 



40 



Growing out of these principles, we hare the 
duty of the " righteous" citizen to come forward 
to the support of the Civil Magistrate in the 
repression of " the lawless and disobedient 
and on this we found a second admonition. 

The nature of every free government is, that 
the people themselves, by their representatives, 
are the framers of the law ; and the people them- 
selves, by their magistrates, are the guardians 
and administrators of the law ; and the force, 
which our constitution in ordinary circumstances 
provides for the support of magisterial authority, 
is that of the citizens themselves. It is their 
duty, if not to offer the magistrate aid, to obey 
his summons in difficult emergencies. Better 
far that this should be done by the peaceable and 
well disposed — better far that they should become 
the guardians of law and order, than that this 
work should be confided to unknown and merce- 
nary men, having no stake in the community, and 
perhaps little distinguished by those qualities of 
intelligence and persuasion which may render 
the employment of deadly weapons unnecessary. 
The true doctrine of political freedom is, that the 
preservation of order in the community is com- 
mitted to its own members under the guidance 
of its own magistrates; and, if a people be 
prepared for freedom and worthy to enjoy it, this 
will be sufficient and effectual. The presence of 
the assembled " righteous'' will drive back the 
lawless and disobedient into their lurking places ; 



41 



tor crime, either in premeditation or commis- 
sion, always makes the guilty cowards. They 
know that all good men are against them ; that 
the law of God as well as the law of the land, 
is against them ; and, believing, as we do, that re- 
spect for law and lawful authority is a strong in- 
stinct in the bosom of the enlightened and civiliz- 
ed, who know what freedom is, and how to 
preserve it, we can hardly suppose an emergency 
— not even in that anarchy which usually pre- 
cedes revolution — in which it shall not be possible 
for such men, by the influence of their character 
and position, to preserve life and property from 
tumultuary violation. Our only hope of the pro- 
gress of enlightened freedom and good govern- 
ment among the nations of the world depends 
upon this possibility, that the righteous among 
them shall come so largely into the ascendent as 
that by the influence of their example alone, and 
the regenerating power of a Christian education, 
they shall, without the sharp edge of the sword, 
eradicate " the lawless and disobedient" from 
the midst of them.. For this purpose, brethren, 
fulfil your own duty in your own sphere. 

Permit me to conclude these remarks by a 
third admonition — abstain from animadverting, 
even upon blamable proceedings, in acrimo- 
nious and vituperative language. A good cause 
can never gain by this. It may excite the 
passions of an antagonist, but it will never reclaim 
him from his errors. It is sinful and injurious in 
d2 



42 



him who employs it, and, in times of confusion 
and turbulent excitement, will always aggravate 
the common calamity. Perhaps you will all 
concur with me in assigning no small portion of 
the evil, which has been mingled with recent 
events, to this cause. The speech and the writ- 
ing, even of those whom we have been accus- 
tomed to esteem for their dispassionate reason- 
ings, for their respect to the courtesies of political 
opposition, for their loyal veneration not only 
of the person of rulers and magistrates but of 
their office, have been of late so filled with 
fierce invective, with bitter personalities, with 
uncandid and reckless imputation of base and 
dishonourable motives against opponents, with a 
glozing-over with faint condemnation the disor- 
ders and crimes which appeared to add to their 
perplexity, that it will require much time and 
much pains on the part of all who are competent 
to influence and reform public opinion, to bring 
it down from that state of distempered and 
feverish irritability into which it has been 
wrought. It cannot be the intention of any 
" righteous man" to do evil to his country. 
Righteous men may differ as to the method of 
doing " the greatest possible good to the greatest 
possible number," and may with perfect honesty 
protest against whatever seems to be inimical to 
the general well-being, and by all constitutional 
and honourable means endeavour to counteract 
it. But this end, we are assured, will be rarely 



4S 



attained by low party intrigue, by persona^ 
defamation, by lawless violence, or disregard of 
those courtesies which are so much needed to 
soften the asperities of political opposition. Let 
this style of speech and writing, therefore, be repu- 
diated. It perverts the public taste ; it corrupts the 
public morals. The lawless will ever be prompt 
to plead violence of speech as a sufficient reason 
for their grosser outrages. These distressing and 
unprosperous times require the union of all 
" righteous men" to mitigate their pressure, and 
to devise a remedy. Only let such in patriotic 
confederation be employed in maturing the 
counsels of experience, and in carrying them out 
with energy ; — and, by the blessing of Heaven, 
we shall not despair of the peace, and the pro- 
gress, the virtue and the happiness of our country. 



44 



> Ceitzcal Rsmabes on 1 Tiv. 1, 9. 
on SiKaitfvofiog 6v kutui 

The translators of our English Bible have rendered these words 
with their characteristic accuracy and precision. Other render- 
ings have been proposed, but they differ little from that which 
our translators have adopted, and add nothing to the force and 
clearness of the passage. Thus Schleusner's rendering, — insonti 
leffem non scriptam esse, — " law is not written for the innocent," 
is not really a change, for to make, to write, to promulgate a law 
may be taken as synonymous. The general signification of 
tcUvBai is, positum esse, to be placed, as the public laws among the 
Greeks and Romans were placed, or set up in conspicuous places, 
where they might be seen and read by the people. 

If any objection were to be made to our common translation, it 
would lie against the translation of (vo/ao^), the law, with an 
article which is not found in the original. The nature of this ob- 
jection will appear, by comparing a clause in the preceding verse, 
(v. 8,) with the clause under consideration. " But we know that 
the law is good, on KaXog 6 vofiog — that the entire body of the 
Mosaic law, — for the article and the scope of the writer evidently 
denote a special reference to that law which the Judaizing teach- 
ers (vofioSiSaaKoXoi) were perverting " Knowing this, that 

law {vofioQ, without the article,) is not made for a righteous 
man — the negation is respecting law in general, and not with any 
special reference to the Mosaic. If it should be said, that, though 
the omission of the article, by the usual rule of Greek construction 
points to this generality, yet the scope of the passage restricts it 
to the special reference, the meaning of the writer will not be 
materially affected — for the Mosaic code embodies in itself the 
general principles of moral and political law as they affect the 
conduct of individuals, so that what is afi&rmed of it specially 
may be affirmed of law in general. 

The real diflficulty, however, lies not in the particular terms, 
but in the proposition. How is it that the law, taking the word, 
either with the special reference, or in general, is not made, writ- 



45 



ten, at promulgated, for the righteous ? The law of Moses, in its 
moral, ceremonial, and civil aspects, was given to regulate the 
conduct of the whole Jewish people : so of the law of God gene- 
rally ; all admit that it is the rule of life to every subject of the 
divine government. 

To obviate the difficulty, a very common ellipse of the particle 
of limitation may be supposed. Thus, " the law is not made (only") 
for the righteous." As in that passage — " Labour not for the meat 
that perisheth," — i. e. labour not only or exclusively for the meat 
that perisheth, but for that which endureth unto everlasting life.* 

Critics have supplied the ellipse in other ways, and offered 
various glosses ; thus : 

*' The law is not made for justifying a righteous man, but for 
condemning and punishing the lawless." — " The law of Moses 
being given as a rule of life to the good as well as to the bad, the 
Apostle's meaning, doubtless, is, that it was given, not for the pur- 
pose of justifying the most righteous man that ever lived, but for 
restraining the wicked by its threatenings and punishments." — 
Macknight. 

Again: "The law is not made to condemn the just, for 
against such there is no law condemning them ; but it lies against 
the lawless to condemn them." — Whithy. 

Again : " A law established, as we know this in question to 
be, with penal sanctions, is not made in a direct and immediate 
reference to a righteous man, who will indeed be a law to himself J 
but in order to restrain the irregularities and enormities of the 
lawless and ungovernable, and to preserve society from their 
assaults." — " Law in general is chiefly intended to restrain men 
from actions injurious to the public." — Doddridge. 

Again : " Laws in general were not made to coerce the well 
disposed subject, but the ill-affected ; and the case was the same 
in respect of the divine law. Its design (as far as it is penal) it 
to restrain and condemn the wicked, not to hold the humble in 

* Scimus autem bonam esse legem, siquis ed legitimd utatur, 
hoc Bciens, nempe legem justo positam non esse, sed legis con^ 
temptoribus, et iis qui subjici nolunt. — Beta. 

Pasor has this note : justo lex non incumbit ; lex, hoe est, legU 
tnaledictio :^eit. Bom. 6. 14s 



46 



servile bondage by its curse : though its precepts will of course 
be the rule of their conduct, and the standard of their duty. — Scott. 

Among these glosses upon the passage, there is a substantial 
harmony in the doctrines involved, and in their practical applica- 
tion. All of them agree in this, that law in the sense here used, 
is to be viewed in its more immediate bearing upon '* the lawless 
.and disobedient" — as " it is intended to restrain them from actions 
injurious to the public." Looking at the enumeration of trans- 
gressors in the verses following, it will be evident that this is the 
correct view. Under the denomination of " the disregarders of 
law," (avo/uot) — and " the disorderly," {avvTroraKroi) — we have, 
" atheists, idolaters, persons polluted with vice, persons excluded 
from things sacred, murderers of fathers, murderers of mothers, 
those who slay others unjustly, fornicators, sodomites, manstealers, 
liars, those who perjure themselves ; and, if any other practice be 
opposed to the doctrine which preserves the soul in health, the l<m 
v>as made to restrain and punish it.'' — Macknight. 

Our attention therefore is here mainly directed to /oioiz^its pro- 
hibitory and penal character ; and of the transgressors specially 
ttiumerated, all would be condemned by the moral law, and 
nearly all, under the criminal jurisprudence of enlightened and 
Christian nations. 



GOD^S CHASTISEMENT OF CITIES: 



A SERMON 

Preached in St. Paul's Church, Montreal, on the occaiion of the 
Fire which desolated a large part of the City on July 9th 
and 10th, 1852. 



GOD'S CHASTISEMENT OF CITIES. 



A Sermon preached in St. Paul's Church, Montreal, on the 
occasion of the Fire which desolated a large part of the 
City on July 9th and 10th, 1852. 



Shan there be evil in a city, and the Lord hath not done it ?" 

Amos Hi. ch. 6th v. 

Every good man — every sincere Christian be- 
lieves in the universal providence of God, and is 
ready to acknowledge that the various events 
of his own life have been under the direction of 
that Divine power which created and upholds 
the universe. In reviewing that part of our life 
which is past, from the earliest period of which 
we have a distinct recollection, until now, we 
all, especially those who have lived many years, 
and past through a variety of scenes, are con- 
strained to acknowledge the guidance of an un- 
seen hand insensibly leading us away, often it 
may be, from the path that we had chosen, into a 
course that we had never thought of ; effecting 
changes in our ideas, and feelings, and plans, by 
very trivial incidents; conducting us into new 
lines of business, new circles of friendship, new 
religious affinities, which have materially affected 
our character and prospects. Some gleam of 

E 



60 



good fortune came and left prosperity behind it ; 
some stroke of temporal adversity came, and the 
effect has never been fully retrieved ; some be- 
reavement desolated our home, which still sad- 
dens memory ; we have suffered some personal 
affliction, of which the consequence remains: 
or, more important still, divine grace, in the 
various methods of its working, may have 
wrought in us some very distinguishable moral 
change, by which we may know that we have 
been translated out of the kingdom of darkness, 
and brought into the kingdom of God's dear Son. 
True faith enables us to discover the hand of 
God in these events of our pei'sonal history. 
Solitary and insignificant though we be, we fefel 
thkt we have been the special objects of the 
Divine care. We may not always be able to 
^j^plain by what complication of agfencies the 
Ijenignant purposes of God in reference to tis 
have been accomplished ; but we are, neverthe- 
less, ^sured His hand hath directed thidm. 
Looking at the trials, for instance, through whidh 
we have passed, we may be quite ilna;ble to tell 
the true eaiise of them, yet faith niay have the 
surest evidence that a Divine hand mingled the 
cup ; and, though the train of physical agencies 
by which they #ere inflicted may be to Us ob- 
scure, the moral intention and effect rhay be as 
clear as ndoii-day. God speaks thus in His 
l^^brd to lis, " Behold the rod and Him that hath 
opoihted it." 



51 



While the benevolent design and the im- 
i^ediate agency of God are recognised by Chrisr 
tians in the afflictions with which they are 
personally visited, the text presents another aspect 
of the providence of God, and of His dealings 
with man. It suggests the idea that God deal^. 
with man not only individually, but in masses ; 
a^di overlooking the particulars, (as it might seemj 
though not really, for the Supreme Ruler can 
overlook nothing,) He deals with the mass accor- 
ding to its prevailing character, and to advance 
the general purposes of His moral s^dministratipn. 
Thus, restricting our view to cities, God deals 
with, them in their aggregate character. In the 
particular city there may be a mixture of good 
^nd evil. The evil may predominate—it rnay 
l?e universal, as in the case of the cities of the 
plain, where ten righteous could not be found; ; 
or the general depravity may be alleviated by 
th^ intermixture and influence of many good 
men, as was probably the case in Nineveh, 
which was spared upon its repentance, and even 
in Babylon, and at a later period Jerusalem, oa 
which the judgement of the sword and desolation 
was executed. When a city has been doomed 
tp punishment in any form, it may fairly be 
inferred that punishment was merited ; that the 
Supreme Governor had a controversy with it ; 
that, if it were given up to the swoyd, or to 
famine, or to pestilence, or to earthquake, some 
purpose was to be accomplished under the 



52 



moral administration of God. It is not necessary 
to suppose that the devoted city was wicked 
above all other cities in the world, any more 
than that the eighteen persons, on whom the 
tower of Siloam fell, were sinners above all that 
dwelt in Jerusalem. It is enough to account for 
the judgement that it contained sinners, that the 
calamity did not befal the innocent, that God 
had some gracious design 'in permitting the calam- 
ity. It might be to cut short incorrigible 
oflfenders in their career of depravity, to give 
striking warning to others, or to clear the way 
for a better order of things. When evil is done 
in a city by the Lord, Religion leads us to view 
it chiefly in its moral designs. Various inci- 
dental advantages may accrue ; but the moral 
are entitled to the first place in the considerations 
of an immortal being. A temporal calamity 
may thus be well compensated by a moral bene- 
fit ; and the fires of the furnace may be patiently 
endured by the man who believes, even in the 
hour of his agony, that he will come forth purified 
as gold. 

Enlightened with such views drawn from the 
Oracles of God, we may proceed with diffidence 
and humility to enquire what lessons of a moral 
or religious nature may be suggested by the 
terrible calamity with which the Hand, that 
directs all events, hath recently visited this city. 
Who could witness, without some fearful appre- 
hension that the wrath of Heaven had fallen 



53 



upon us, the progress of the devouring element, 
sweeping along with a might that set at defiance 
the puny efforts of those who would fain have 
arrested it, driven by the wind, God's messen- 
ger, kindling up unexpectedly at new points, 
aided, as some think, by the indescribable atroc- 
ity of a human hand, until street after street 
was laid in ashes, and thousands were left with- 
out the shelter of a home. And what thoughtful, 
comp3.ssionate man can now, after the lapse of a 
month, traverse this scene of ruin and devasta- 
tion without sad reflections on the numerous 
poor whose poverty has been aggravated by this 
terrible catastrophe ; on the multitude who en- 
joyed a competence and contentment in their 
own little dwelling, which they may never more 
find; on the smaller number who have been 
driven back from an affluence which long years 
of successful industry will scarce enable them to 
regain. We know that in many minds hope will 
come in to cheer the gloom, and religion in 
others will soothe grief into submission ; but in 
spite of these mitigations the disaster is most cala- 
mitous, and its effects by many will long be felt 
with a melancholy sadness. But it is their duty 
— it is the duty of all to enquire, both in the case of 
personal and collective correction, why the hand 
of the Lord hath chastised us, and what benefi- 
cence of design may be discovered in the ca- 
lamity ? 2 

Before proceeding to the moral lessons which 

e2 



54 



this visitation of the providence of God may sug- 
gest to us, we may advert for a moment to some 
of the more immediate and palpable causes of 
this calamity — the causes on which the minds of 
multitudes will principally rest, and which, as 
being connected chiefly with the physical laws, 
require a set of remedies adapted to their nature. 
There are laws founded in nature, according to 
which a city ought to be constructed and gov- 
erned, and which cannot be disregarded without 
entailing their peculiar penalty. If built of very 
perishable materials, it must soon perish, and the 
very site of it may in the progress of ages be undis- 
coverable. This fate has happened to many a 
once celebrated city in the valley of the Euphrates 
and the Nile. If placed on the crater of a vol- 
cano, it need not be thought strange if it were 
swallowed up. If constructed of combustible 
materials, what wonder if an act of carelessness, 
or the torch of an incendiary, should consume 
it in a night! Nature, (and nature speaks with 
the voice of God) nature, did we only listen 
with the ear of science to her voice, teaches us 
how cities should be planned and reared; and 
those who disregard her counsel expose them- 
selves to the penalty. The providence of God 
interposes to punish the violation of physical 
laws just as certainly as it interposes to punish 
the violation of the moral, though in the former 
case the probabilities of escape may seem to 
be numerous, while in the latter escape is impos- 



55 



sible. When viewing the recent calamity, there 
is a sense in which we may view it as an acci- 
dent. It was accident, perhaps, that dropped the 
first spark into the combustibles which it set on 
fire. It was an accident, as we are accustomed 
to speak, for we do not often advert to the far- 
seeing agency by which these things are direct- 
ed, that the wind blew and spread the flame. But 
it was no accident that the part of the city, which 
this fire has laid in ashes, presented in abundance 
everywhere the materials to feed it, and that its 
narrow streets and lanes acted as so many flues 
to attract the destroyer. While, if there was 
aught deficient in precautionary arrangements, 
or in sagacity and decision in the hour of danger, 
(the means by which man in many cases is able 
to control natnre), these deficiencies gave freer 
play to the physical laws, and brought their 
penalty with a sterner severity. In all these 
events conscience may not blame, for conscience 
blames only for the transgression of a moral law ; 
but wisdom may denounce, and humanity may 
express her regret, that the voice of nature, 
teaching men how to construct cities, had been 
so little regarded. And, if poverty and the 
necessities of a ruder age be pleaded in extenua- 
tion, we need only repeat what every one knows, 
that no necessity of impoverished man can coun- 
tervail a law of nature, or prevent a combustible 
from burning when the fire is applied. And, 
viewing the recent calamity irrespectively alto- 



gether of the moral demerit of the parties more 
immediately affected by it, viewing it as arising 
out of a combination of circumstances which had 
a beginning a century back or more, and involv* 
ing no moral blame on the existing generationj^ 
we may yet see at every point a disregard of 
the provisions of nature, and, as we look on the 
result, we may exclaim in the words of the^ 
prophet : " Shall there be evil in a city, and the 
Lord hath not done it ?" 

But, without dwelling on this view of the 
recent calamity, let us turn to what seems to be 
mainly intended in the text, the transgression of 
the moral law as the cause of Divine judgements 
on cities. 

That all the evils and sufferings of human 
life originate in sin, is an admitted point among 
Christians. That the mode in which the penalty 
is connected with the transgression is infinitely 
varied, is a fact manifest to all enlightened 
observation. But, while this general doctrine 
and this evident fact may be readily admitted, 
it is not so easy to show that any particular 
judgement, occurring in the providence of Gpdj 
has been sent upon a community because of 
some particular sins that may prevail in it, 
or on. account of the general enormity of its 
wickedness. It would be rash and hazardous, 
for instance, for any one to affirm that the terrible 
calamity which has recently befallen this, city, 
was sent on account of any one of the sins that 



57 



might be justly charged upon some portions of 
the community, or on account of the general 
aggravation of our wickedness. But it would be 
neither rash nor hazardous to say that each 
and all of these sins provoke the displeasure of 
God, and merit His righteous judgement ; and it 
would be profitable for each of us to consider, 
and for every Minister of Religion to point out, 
what he may deem the sins prevailing among 
us, with which the tokens of the Divine displea- 
sure may be connected. This is the proper use 
of such visitations. In receiving them as judge- 
ments from God, we are not presuming to lift 
up the veil that envelops the secret purposes 
of the Sovereign Ruler; we are only attempting 
to discover the particulars of our own guilt, the 
guilt to be found in the community of which we 
form a part, that we may be moved penitently 
to confess our sins, our individual and collective 
sins, and to employ the means by which a 
general reformation of morals and religion may 
be effected. 

To proceed then, let us calmly and candidly 
present the truth, as we view it, in reference to 
the religious condition and character of this city, 
and to point out first in the Protestant division, 
and secondly in the Romanistic, what appears 
to be at variance with the will of God, incon- 
sistent with the duties and detrimental to the 
highest interests of the community, and, as such, 
justly deserving any judgement the Sovereign 
Ruler may be pleased to send upon us. 



5 a 

First, then, look at the condition of Protestant- 
ism, in this city. 

It comprehends, in its various br^nches^ about 
one-third of the entire population. ^ It will not 
be deemed, in this assembly, extravagant; if we 
claim for them the highest place on account of 
their intelligence, worth, enterprise, and influence. 
We may claim also for the several churcheS; into 
which they are distributed, (we Aame not th^ 
exception), that they maintain the symbols of the 
orthodox and evangelical faith founded on the, 
Oxacles of God. Of these five chvirches belong 
to the Church of England, and six are Presbyterian 
in their order and doctrine ; besides these there are 
two Congregational Churches, three Methodist 
Chapels, and one Baptist; and these, inclusive of 
the Unitarians, represent a population that rnay be: 
estimated at 20,000 souls. Supposing that th^i 
number of churches may be taken as a fair; expor. 
nent of the average number of members adhering 
tQ each denomination, it will not be denied, th&t^ 
as far as churches go, and the services of the ab^ei 
and; faithful ministers who officiate in them, an 
ample provision is made for the spiritual edifir 
cation of their respective adherents. Our sanctu- 
aries are open on the sabbath, and the true doc- 
trines of the Gospel are, with some lesser di- 
versities, pjoclaimed in them all. What fruit 
have we then from these things ? As Protestants, 
we proclaim that we are in possession of the pure 
Truth, drawn fresh from the fountains of Inspi- 



59 



ration ; we are not spiritually enslaved or priest- 
ridden ; our freedom of inquiry is not fettered ; 
the education of our children is not counteracted ; 
our press is not manacled by a censorship ; and 
the great body of our people preserve an outward 
reverence for the sabbath and the sanctuary. 
These are some of our advantages as Protestants, 
which increase our responsibility in the sight of 
Heaven. But will it be affirmed that these ad- 
vantages have been rightly improved ? Is it 
manifest among our people that a purer life has 
resulted from a purer faith ? Is it at all obvious 
in the conduct of the Protestants of this city, that 
thiey are as devotedly attached to the Truth as the 
'Romanist is to his hereditary prejudices; and do 
Ihey in point of fact make as great and ready 
sacrifices for its support and promulgation ? Do 
they observe their sacred ordinances with an equal 
^devotion and assiduity? Would not every well 
inforrned Protestant hesitate to reply in the affir- 
mative ?— x\nd to what else save the religious in- 
difference, and the spurious liberality that pre- 
vails among us, must be attributed the slow 
progress of Evangelical Truth in the subversion 
of ancient corruption ? I proceed upon the as- 
sumption which you will grant, that Scriptural 
Truth is upon our side, and that there is a Divine 
power in Truth Revealed, when it is earnestly 
confessed with holiness of life. Why then has 
this Divine power not been manifested in the 
more rapid decline and overthrow of ancient cor- 



60 



ruption ? Can a better reason be assigned than 
that the Truth has been held in unrighteousness, 
in indifference, as if it were not a precious trea- 
sure worth a man's while to purchase at any cost, 
and to disseminate at any sacrifice ? Why this 
evident apathy among the confessors of a pure 
faith ? Shall we say that it arises from a latent 
scepticism as to its real purity — its Divine ori- 
gin ? Or shall we rather say that its proper in- 
fluence is counteracted by the urgencies of busi- 
ness, and the fascinations of pleasure ? Whatever 
be the cause, that cause must involve guilt — the 
guilt of unfaithfulness to Him who has revealed 
the truths of the everlasting Gospel to the world ; 
and it involves also the guilt of unfaithfulness to 
those around for whose salvation it has been re- 
vealed. If the spread of Divine Truth, the in- 
fluence of a pure faith is in any way retarded 
by the doubtful testimony, the unholy example of 
those who profess it, must they not be held ac- 
countable for the result ? In speaking of a doubt- 
ful testimony, I allude not to the avoidance of 
religious controversies by which this community 
is happily characterized, nor to the absence of 
the strong anti-popish antipathies for which our 
father-land is distinguished, nor to the banish- 
ment of that railing phraseology with which all 
Romanistic peculiarities were wont to be as- 
sailed. No one should regret that these things 
are by us laid aside. They were not destructive 
to the fortress of error against which they were 



directed, while they aroused the animosity of 
those within it, and too often impaired in the 
bosoms of the assailaats that divine charity, 
without which, though we speak with the toagues 
of angels, we are nothing. But here we may be 
allowed to express our fear lest, with the polish- 
ing away of these blemishes, the Protestant com- 
munity may have become in some degree recon- 
ciled even to the most pernicious of the prevail- 
ing errors. We are not grieved as we ought to 
be by those defacements of the divine beauties 
of Christianity which deprive it of its power to 
regenerate society. We do not contend with 
earnest, fearless zeal for the faith once delivered 
to the saints ; and the wide-spread inconsisten- 
cies between our profession and our creed sadly 
mar the efficacy of both over the minds of those 
who know not the Truth. In so far as these 
charges may be established against us, do we 
not deserve the righteous judgements of Him? 
who by the Gospel hath sent salvation to the 
world ? 

In the preceding survey we have regarded 
the Protestant Churches mainly in the light of the 
depositaries of a pure and Scriptural faith. But 
we ought farther to look upon them as organized 
societies of Christian men, to whom the duty has 
been committed of promulgating the faith, and 
all its blessed influences, each especially in his 
own vicinity. But, alas ! how many things in 
the condition of the Protestant Churches in this 

F 



(52 



city are, by our own confession, at variance with 
the design of the Christian institute ! They are 
organized indeed separately and for sectarian 
objects; but they exist in a state of disunion, 
perhaps antagonism, based sometimes on minute 
and unimportant points, which mars or greatly 
impedes their efficiency in all Catholic move- 
ments. A substantial unity in the common faith 
can be discovered in their respective creeds; but 
on the less important questions of order and of 
ritual they are broken up into different sections, 
each gazing intently on the dividing lines, and 
too little on the canopy of the One Cross which 
overshadows them all. The consequence is, that 
in respect to all matters, for which organization 
is valuable, we, Protestants, are utterly impotent. 
Our voice is never united ; the rods of our power 
are never bound up into one bundle. Both the 
State and the Romish Church look upoiL our 
separate Churches in the light of rival factions, 
which are not likely ever to become formidable 
by their unity. Meanwhile it is scarcely pos- 
sible to speak of them as one whole. Without 
combination of ministerial agency ; without a 
centre of authority to regulate the general ex- 
penditure ; without concert to expose error or 
to repel wrong ; without co-operation in promot- 
ing or sustaining any system of education either 
in schools or colleges; is it strange that we 
should fail to reap the advantages of union 
where there is no unity, and of combined effort 



a$. 

where there is no organization? Freedom of 
inquiry, we are aware, must always give rise 
to some diversity of opinion; and diversity of 
tastes and classes will give birth to particular 
associations; but these may aad ought to be har- 
monized by an essential unity, and by a presiding 
power, and by a heaven-born charity : and much 
of the gailt, with which, as a body, we are charge- 
able, arises from the absence of these bonds, and 
the penalty is connected with the sin of Protes- 
tantism. 

Look next at Romanism in this city in its re- ^ 
lation to the moral government of God. 

It prevails among two-thirds of the population. 
It possesses large accumulated wealth, derived 
from the liberality of a former age.* Its power 
is concentrated in the priesthood, united into a 
perfect organization in its several orders. The 
jarring of its machinery is never heard, so deep 
it lies, and so remote from the ear of the world. 
That portion of the Papal system, by which we 
in this city are more directly affected, is the same 
in its agents and in its objects as it has been 
everywhere since the age of Hildebrand.^ To 
centralize all spiritual power in the priesthood, 
to make religion consist in the observance of the 
ritualism of the Church, to discountenance per- 
sonal investigation in all matters of doctrine, 
to prevent the reading of the Bible by the people, 
to circumscribe common education within the 
very narrowest limits, are demonstrably the ob- 



64 



jects of that policy which the Church of Rome 
here and everywhere pursues; and the effects 
are strikingly visible wherever it is pursued free 
from counteraction. Even under our own eye, 
where the counteractions are numerous and 
powerful, we may witness these effects in the 
absence of enterprize, in a resistance to improve- 
ments, in a sluggish contentment with ancestral 
customs and old modes of thought and action. 
Society around the French Canadians is advanc- 
ing, but they are stationary ; no power can infuse 
into them the living energy of the age to which 
they belong. These are the true and necessary 
consequences, they are the immediate penalties, 
resulting under the government of God from the 
religious system. It is unfavourable to mental 
energy because it forbids freedom of thought on 
the great questions which first awaken it in the 
popular mind ; it plants faith in the imagination, 
and not in the intellect ; it tries to win the heart 
by the eye and the ear, rather than by the vivid 
representation of the Truth. This is an essential 
characteristic of the system. Of itself it cannot 
raise to high intelligence, or to pure pre-eminent 
virtue. It counteracts in many important points 
the purposes of Him who is the Way, the Truth, 
and the Life, and in so far it must entail the 
penalty of His displeasure. 

Did we only view the Papal system in its true 
light, we could not fail to be struck with the 
enormity of its perversions. Our religion is re- 



u 

vealed firom Heaven. It is contained in a volume, 
of which the inspiration is admitted, and the 
meaning is level to every capacity. The Romish 
Church shuts up this volume in prison, suppresses 
some of its most important doctrines, and trans- 
forms the divine simplicity of its ordinances by 
so many additions that with difficulty the original 
can be recognized beneath the superincumbent 
load. The question arises, Who gave man, any 
body of men, authority to do this ? Is a power, 
delegated for this purpose, so much as hinted at 
in the Written Word ? If not hinted at there, where 
are the evidences of its delegation ? If, as the 
Romaaist alleges, evidence be found in the Gos- 
pel that such power was given to Peter and his 
successors, is there no limit to its exercise ? no 
rule for its guidance ? What is that limit ? Where 
is that rule ? Has the liberty been given to any 
church, to any age, so to change the whole face 
of the primitive faith as that Peter and the primi- 
tive martyrs, were they to rise from the dead, 
could scarce recognize it. With the light that we 
have, we feel no hesitation in replying in the neg- 
ative. We are free to declare that every change 
in the religion of Christ by a human hand is an 
invasion of His Sovereign Power, and the highest 
dishonour that can be done to His name. He 
will not own such a corrupted Gospel as His ; and, 
however wide its reception be in a degenerate 
world, and even though it should bring upon it 
some incidental good, it will fail in the accom- 



m 



plishment of those higher objects which the pure 
Gospel achieves. Prophecy assures us that this 
mystery of iniquity will be consumed in the 
brightness of the Saviour's coming. What won- 
der if in the progress of its history it should oc- 
casionally receive some precursory admonitions 
of its impending doom ! 

We may now advert for a moment to one or 
two of those evils which cannot fail to arise in a 
community like oars from the condition of the 
Christian Church among us, as we have briefly, 
and it may be darkly, presented it. 

No truth is more certain than that the mo- 
rality of a city will grow out of its religion ; and 
whatever impairs the efficacy of religion, its doc 
trines, its ordinances, its organization, will in 
the same degree be injurious to morality ; while 
the moral worth which it diffuses will prove 
an important element of social order and ma- 
terial prosperity. If we do not advance in re- 
ligion, (and with this we connect advancement 
in intelligence and morality,) we will continue 
to be exposed to the following among many other 
evils. 

Our city will be liable to frequent violations 
of law, and interruptions of public order. The 
law and the magistrate are powerful in this land 
to restrain crime, and to punish the offender. 
But after all the surest guarantee of social order 
is conscience, not fear. Conscience is both the 
law and the magistrate in the bosom of a good 



m 



citizen, and its functions are performed without 
expense to the community. Unless its power be 
felt in the great body of the citizens, what secu- 
rity have we for the preservation of life, and prop* 
erty, and justice, in times of general excitement 
and commotion ; in the conflict of parties ; in the 
collision of rival interests '? The disorder which 
rises up, like the troubled and restless sea, in a 
demoralized community, is quickly followed with 
condign punishment. When civil government^ 
which is a Divine ordinance, is despised and re- 
sisted, the Supreme Governor avenges the wrong 
by the miseries which are sent upon the lawless 
and disobedient. 

In the actual condition of society among us 
we might apprehend another evil,— the disunion 
of our citizens, as manifested in the disunion of 
our representative functionaries. Of different na- 
tional origins, speaking different languages, ad- 
hering to different modes of religions faith, not 
mingling freely in the ordinary affairs of life, is 
there no reason to fear discordant counsels, and 
efforts after public improvement frustrated ? Is 
there no danger that this discordancy of opinion 
and sentiment be carried into an arena devoted to 
the discussion of mundane interests, and that the 
material advancement of the community be hin- 
dered by an antagonism which has its source in 
an adverse nationality or a diversity of religious 
creed ? And where can the cure of the evil be 
found save in that diffusion of knowledge, and 



m 

that unanimity of sentiment which Trae ReligioB 
so effectually promotes ? Until this healthier state 
of the public mind be attained, the evils which 
result from the existing elements of discord will 
continue to inflict the merited penalty. 

To one other evil we may point as strongly in- 
dicating that the foundation of our security must 
be laid in religion and conscience. Science 
among other results has furnished facilities for 
the commission of crime; and one of the most 
enormous crimes, that can be committed against 
life and properly, may now be committed so as al- 
most to elude the possibility of detection; I refer to 
the crime of arson or incendiarism, a crime which, 
there is too much reason to fear, is now of fre- 
quent occurrence. For the purpose of sporting 
with the fears of the timid, or of gratifying secret 
revenge, or of acquiring plunder in the confusion, 
some men, in whom all the checks of conscience 
are over-borne, do not scruple to cast the match 
where they know it will do its work, and watch 
its progress in recklessness and impunity. Let 
it be granted that there are few persons in any 
community capable of such an atrocity, yet the 
property of a city, and many of its lives, may be 
very much at the disposal of these few. Ten 
such ruffians, single or organized, might in the 
course of ten years bring ruin on ten thousand 
families; and against them there might be no 
appeal save to the judgement-seat of God; for 
human tribunals are impotent where there are no 



witnesses and no accusers. Yet such extreme 
cases of rare and aggravated criminality, which 
cannot be controlled by that fear which so fre- 
quently prevents easily detected crimes, can be 
met and restrained only by its appropriate antidote 
— an antidote which must be applied to the con- 
science of the individual, but which cannot reach 
the unknown individual unless by its general 
circulation through that community of which he 
is a member. The new forms of crime, to which 
improved science is giving birth, can be met and 
counteracted not so much by improved systems 
of criminal police as by a more faithful applica- 
tion of the moral influences which mould and 
fashion the characters of men. If cities are to 
be safe, they must be made safe by the control- 
ling power of an enlightened conscience. There 
must be no waste places left, no neglected spots 
in the moral domain, in which villains may be 
nurtured to avenge the neglect by crimes against 
the community that neglected them. For the 
effects of the law of moral retribution are often 
painfully felt even in the present world both by 
individuals and communities ; and, were we 
competent to trace out in every instance the 
sources of crime, and the miseries which it pro- 
duces, we might see them stand universally in 
the relation of cause and effect, surely established 
for holy and beneficent purposes by the decree of 
the Sovereign Ruler ; and, acknowledging His 
righteous dominion^ we might humbly exclaim in 



70 



the language of the prophet : " Shall there be 
evil in a city, and the Lord hath not done it ?" 

It is not my intention that the general and dis- 
cursive illustration we have now pursued should 
be connected with the recent calamity beyond 
what the doctrine in the text warrants — that the 
evils which are done in a city are under the direc- 
tion of Heaven, are the signs of God's displeasure, 
and the means by which He punishes or rectifies 
what is wrong. The immediate practical lesson, 
addressed to us individually, is that we should 
stand in awe of the Divinejudgements, which may 
at any moment, and by a thousand agencies, be 
sent upon the sinner. Everywhere in every city 
the Moral Governor is present, and every material, 
and every human agent, may become the minister 
of His pleasure. The stroke of lightning will 
accomplish it as effectually as the torch of the 
incendiary, and the breath of pestilence may in 
a day make sadder havoc than a conflagration. 
It may be well occasionally to look on the moral 
condition of the city of our habitation, for our 
principal duties lie within it, and, according to 
the social arrangements ordained of God, our 
own well-being, both for time and for eternity, is 
complicated with the moral well-being of all who 
are more immediately related to us. 

But in the final judgement of God, and in the 
issues of eternity, we shall each stand alone. 
Our own character, our own deeds, will be the 
ground of pur doom. Every human being will 



71 



at the last audit be viewed apart from the acci= 
dental relations of the world through which he 
has passed, and the character he himself possesses 
will give complexion to his destiny. In the pres- 
ent world the good and the bad are often plunged 
in the same calamity ; thongh there be still a 
wide difference between them amidst the common 
distress. Their substance may be consumed in 
the same fire. The one, whose only portion was 
an earthly one, has lost his all. The other has 
lost his earthly substance too, but he has in Heaven 
a better and an enduring substance which no 
fires can consume. Seek, brethren, for a title to 
this inheritance, more precious far than the fairest 
of the earthly. It belongs to all the faithful in 
Christ Jesus, and no accident will ever deprive 
them of it. The growth of a sanctified nature 
will give strength to the evidence that it is yours ; 
and in due time you will be raised to the pos- 
session of the purchased and unfading inheri- 
tance. Amen. 



NOTES. 



* " Devout attention to the dealings of Providence is equally 
consonant to the dictates of reason and Scripture. He, who 
believes in the superintendence of an Eternal Mind over the 
affairs of the Universe, is equally irrational and indevout in 
neglecting to make the course of events the subject of frequent 
meditation ; since the knowledge of God is incomparably more 
important than the most intimate acquaintance with our fellow- 
creatures ; and, as the latter is chiedy acquired by an attentive 
observation of their conduct, so must the former be obtained in 
the same way. The operations of Providence are marked with 
a character as expressive of their Great Author as the produc- 
tions of human agency ; and the same Being, who speaks like 
Himself in His Word, acts like Himself in the moral economy 
of the Universe." » * " The obscurities of Providence are eluci- 
dated by Scripture ; the declarations of Scripture are verified by 
Providence. One unfolds, as far as is suitable to our state, the 
character and designs of the mysterious Agent ; the other displays 
His works ; and the admirable harmony, which is found to subsist 
between them, strengthens and invigorates our confidence in 
both." * * Providence conveys its most impressive lessons in 
facts and events ; and by clothing the abstractions of Religion in 
the realities of life renders them in a manner palpable." — Robert 



3 The Census of the Religious Denominations in the City of 
Montreal, 1852, as published, presents the following results :— . 



57,716 

Little confidence can be placed on the accuracy of the returns 
•» whieh these ealoulationg ar« based, "We deem th« assumed 



Hall. 



Church of Rome, 

Church of England , 

Presbyterians, (of all classes ?). 

Methodists, 

Baptists 

Other Denominations, 

Jews, 



41,464 
, 3,993 
2.832 
1,213 
272 
7,760 
181 



73 



proportion of one-third Protestant to two-thirds Roman Catholic 
as suflSiciently accurate for a general illustration. It is in this 
proportion the School funds of the City are divided. The number 
comprehended under the head " Other Denominations" ought 
probably to be distributed among the Protestant Churches named, 
and the Unitarians who are not named, including a portion (we 
know not how large), who are usually designated in Canada 
"West as belonging to "N'o Religion." The six Presbyteriau 
Churches must be entitled to claim largely upon the unappropri- 
ated column. 

* " The genius of the papal government was better adapted to 
the exercise of spiritual dominion, than of temporal power. With 
respect to the former, all its maxims were steady and invariable. 
Every new pontiff adopted the plan of his predecessor. By edu- 
cation and habit, ecclesiastics were so formed, that the character 
of the individual was sunk in that of the profession ; and the pas- 
sions of the man were sacrificed to the interest and honour of the 
orders. The hands which held the reigns of administration might 
change ; but the spirit which conducted them was always the 
same. While the measures of other governments fluctuated, and 
the objects at which they aimed varied, the church kept one end 
in view ; and to this unrelaxing constancy of pursuit, it was in- 
debted for its success in the boldest attempts ever made by human 
ambition." — Dr. Robertson's View of the State of Europe. 

^ The Roman Catholic Church in Lower Canada obtained 
from the Crown of France the fief and Seigniory of Montreal , 
the fief and Seigniory of Two Mountains, and the fief and Sei 
gniory of St. Sulpice. These lands lapsed to the Crown of 
England at the conquest, but the ecclesiastic orders w^ere permit- 
ted to retain the occupancy. Conscious of the invalidity of a 
title by mere sufferance, they solicited a valid title from Lord 
Sydenham, and they obtained a Special ordinance (3d Vict., 1840, 
ch. 30,) confirming them in the possession. In addition to these 
Seignorial lands the Roman Catholic Church has a vast amount 
of property, accumulated from their revenues, and enlarged by 
the various methods so successfully practised by its priesthood 
both with the living and the dying. The cur6s, moreover, are 
entitled by law to claim, in lieu of tythes, one twenty-sixth of 
the produce of all the lands belonging to the members of their. 

G 



74 



own communion. The revenues derived from these various 
sources, increased by the customary dues exacted for spiritual 
services, make the Roman Catholic Church of Lovi^er Canada 
probably one of the best endowed Churches in the World. Will 
the parties now labouring so diligently to weaken Protestantism 
in Canada by demanding the secularization of the Clergy Re- 
serves, if they should succeed in their object, have consistency 
and virtue enough to deal with an equal hand with the property 
now in possession of the Church of Rome '? An ordinance of 
Lord Sydenham and his Council must surely be an obstacle as 
easily surmountable as an Act of the Imperial Parliament 1 The 
political leaders of Popery in this land may perhaps be induced, 
by the clamour of Protestant sects, made louder by alien auxilia- 
ries, to consent to secularize the lands granted for the support of a 
Protestant Clergy, if they foresee no danger in it to their own 
possessions, but not otherwise. And some politicians who profess 
to be Protestants are wheedling the Roman Catholics with this 
argument that, whatever may befal the Clergy Reserves, the 
wealth of the Roman Catholic Church is secure. But, if, as 
will be most agreeable to them and the priesthood, the course 
proposed be not secularization but a new distribution of the Clergy 
Reserve Fund among all sects, in the ratio of their respective 
numbers, then the Church of Rome in Canada will carry off 
one half of the spoil and add it to her already enormous wealth. 
Of this we may be assured that the French and Roman party 
in our Legislature will not, at least during the lives of the 
existing generation, consent to any Act that will diminish the 
wealth and power of their Church, though they will probably 
not hesitate to take advantage of division and rivalship to weaken 
and humble an adversary. If they should succeed, neither the 
revolutionary politician nor the voluntary religionist will in the 
end have much cause to rejoice. 



RESPECT FOR THE BURYING PLACE 
OF THE DEAD, 

A SERMON 



Preached in St, Paul's Church in 1848, with the view of arousing 
attention to the propriety of establishing a public Cemetery 
for the city. 



RESPECT FOR THE BURYING PLACE 
OF THE DEAD. 

A SERMON 

Preached in St. Paul's Church in 1848, with the view of arousing 
attention to the propriety of establishing a public Cemetery 
for the city. 



And the field of Ephron, which was in IVlachpelah, which was 
before Mamre, the field, and the cave which was therein, and all 
the trees that were in the field, that were in all the borders 
round about were made sure. Unto Abraham for a possession in 
the presence of the chQdi-en of Heth, before all that went in at 
the gate of his city. — Gen. xxiii. 17, 18. 

All these are the twelve tribes of Israel : and this is it that 
their father spake unto them, and blessed them ; every one ac- 
cording to his blessing he blessed them. And he charged them, 
and said unto them, I am to be gathered unto my people : bury 
me with my fathers in the cave that is in the field of Ephron the 
Hittite ; In the cave that is in the field of Machpelah, which is 
before Mamre, in the land of Canaan, which Abraham bought 
with the field of Ephron the Hittite for a possession of a burying- 
place. There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife ; there 
they buried Isaac and Rebekah his wife ; and there I buried Leah. 
—Gen. xlix. 28—31. 

Read Matt, xxvii. 50—66, and :Matt. xxviii. 1 — 6. 

There are not a few in every unfeeling and 
utilitarian community, who might be disposed to 
treat with levity, the tender sentiment which ac- 
tuated the patriarch in his anxiety to secure an 
indisputable title to the burying place in the cave 
of Machpelah. The language held by such is, 
what matter, where, or in what form, the decom- 
g2 



78 



posing relics ol mortality are laid ? What sig- 
nifies it to them, who can have no feeling of the 
dishonour, and can suffer nothing in the event, 
whether they are consigned to some hole in an 
obscure corner of a stranger's field, where not even 
a hillock shall denote their resting place, or on 
the highway, or within the sea mark, or in the 
bosom of the ocean itself, or still more revolting, 
be left exposed to the roving beasts of prey. The 
deserted relic of mortality can suffer nothing by 
any such fate. It cannot witness the aversion of 
the sensitive, nor be conscious of the rudeness 
that defaces its form. In any contingency, it is 
speedily dissolved, and the elements receiving 
what the elements had given, " dust to dust, con- 
cludes the noblest name." 

But this coarse disregard of the dead, which 
some have mistaken for an enlargement from 
popular prejudices, is after all not only at variance 
with our natural sentiments, and a correct taste, 
but is not even superficially plausible. Nature 
has formed us with a love for relics — whatever 
they may be, — when they appertain to objects 
which have strongly excited our personal affec- 
tions, or when profoundly interesting associations 
are connected with them. Why that eagerness 
that has displayed itself in so many forms, of 
which the results are found in so many private 
and public repositaries, to collect memorials of 
the past, and to put upon them a value which 
bears no proportion to their intrinsic worth ? And 



79 



why the deeper interest excited in the mind of 
every correct thinking observer as he contem- 
plates some authentic memorials of remarkable 
events and persons ? Is it not an evidence that 
our bosom has a chord within it, fitted to receive 
exquisite impressions from such objects ? The 
relic, however intrinsically contemptible, has a 
history in it, and that history is a fountain of 
emotion. 

Why that deep interest which man feels in 
visiting the scenes of those wonderful events 
which stand prominently forth in the annals of 
the past ? Is it not, that the scene is the memento 
of the action, and has its history graven upon it, 
" as with an iron pen and lead on the rock ?" — 
And if the traveller bring away from the scene 
any objects that shall keep it in his remembrance, 
or that shall excite in those to whom he may give 
t, on his return to his native country, a livelier 
emembrance of that scene and its history, some 
benefit results from the indulgence of a natural 
sentiment, even though fancy be a busy promp- 
ter,- — provided always fancy be chaste and en- 
lightened and religious in her sketchings. Has 
he brought me a stone from Ararat? It may be 
that on it the Ark rested, while yet the deluge 
rolled darkly and sadly over the desolated world. 
— Has he brought me a worn fragment of gopher 
wood from one of its peaks ? It may be (why 
should it not be?) a portion of the ark in which 
God shut up with his own hand the stock of a 



80 



re-peopled world, of which as concerning the 
flesh Christ came ? — Has he brought me a sun- 
dried brick, or the skeleton of a cormorant, or a 
stuffed satyr from the ruins of Babylon? It has 
inscribed on it the record of prophetic fulfilment. 
And what are the ruins of Nineveh, or Thebes, 
or Persepolis, but so many huge relics, consisting 
of mounds, and excavated chambers, and broken 
columns, and fallen temples, which no one can 
look upon without brighter illuminations of the 
past, and sadder reflections on the nmtability of 
all human grandeur. These are the sepulchral 
monuments of nations, and we are summoned by 
nature and history, taste and religion, to read 
their inscriptions and to moralize on their fate. 

But parting from those grander memorials of 
nations and great events, there is something still 
more touching in some of the humbler monuments 
which love and friendship have raised to perpe- 
tuate the memory of the departed, at least to 
redeem that memory for a time, from an all de- 
vouring oblivion. The Egyptians and the He- 
brews were remarkable for the care with which 
they protected their dead. They ever parted from 
the body with a sorrowing reluctance, and were 
unwilling that it should lose a place in their re- 
membrance. They kept it long in the death 
chamber, ere they carried it away to the sepul- 
chre ; and the more opulent tried by the most 
ingenious arts to arrest the process of dissolution, 
and to preserve upon the lifeless frame all that 



SI 

could be preserved of the lineaments of the being 
that they loved. They chose for their biirying- 
places situations most fitly adapted to give free 
play to these tender sentiments. Their sepulchres 
were placed in the most retired and beautiful 
spots amidst groves of oak and terebinth ; or they 
cut them out often with exquisite sculpture in the 
face of a mountain rock, where, to this day they 
are seen in thousands ; or they built over them 
temples, whose magnificent ruins still excite 
the wonder of the traveller ; or far up in some 
inaccessible ravine, like Petra, they consecrated 
a city of the dead, and repaired at intervals to 
contemplate amidst its silent majesty and its 
slumbering tenants the destiny that awaited 
themselves. Time has spared many of these 
monuments, but history contains few records of 
their moral influence. Yet from the congeniality 
of such funeral customs to the nature of man we 
may conclude that they were salutary. 

And we are not without remarkable illustrations 
of this care for the dead, founded in that propen- 
sity of our nature to which we have adverted, even 
amidst heathen and barbarous nations. The 
Indians chose some favoured spot in the solitude 
of their forest, or on some beautiful promontory, or 
bay, for the sepulchre of their tribe. They raised 
a mound over their dust and would not permit it to 
be violated. They deem it a sore calamity to be 
driven from the region where it lies ; and when 
that sore calamity has happened, they have been 



82 



known to disinter the dead and carry their relics 
along with them. And wherever we find a con- 
duct the reverse of this, and the dead uncared for, 
we find the ' savage sunk to the lowest point of 
debasement. When he can leave, as some tribes 
do, the sick or the aged to expire of hunger, or to 
become a prey to wild beasts ; — and when he 
leaves the corpse of a kinsman unburied to be 
torn to pieces by the wolves and vultures, — there 
we find every human sentiment extinct, and the 
brutal in possession of the man. A tribe without 
a burying place is always a Iribe without the 
consciousness of man's dignity, without the hope 
of immortality, without the idea of a God. Such 
degraded creatures have no relics, no anticipa- 
tions ; all that they seek for is the enjoyment of 
the present hour. They employ the Epicurean's 
maxim, without knowing his philosophy, " let us 
eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die" — 
die like the beasts that perish. 

Among the customs of the an(?ient Greeks and 
Romans, funeral rites and the burial of the dead 
occupied a very conspicuous place. " To defraud 
the dead of any due respect, was a greater and 
more unpardonable sacrilege, than to spoil the 
temples of the gods." " Their mythology led 
them to believe that the souls of the departed 
could not be admitted into the Elysian shades 
but were forced to wander desolate and without 
company, till their bodies were committed to 
the earth ; and if they never had the good 



83 



fortune to obtain human burial, they were ex- 
cluded from the receptacle of ghosts for an 
hundred years: — and hence the severest of 
all imprecations was that a person might died 
unburied." And if any relative was back- 
ward in paying his dead friends due respect, or 
even sparing in his expenses upon their obse- 
quies and monuments, he was looked upon as 
void of humanity and natural affection, and was 
excluded from all offices of trust and honor. 
Hence one special enquiry concerning the lives 
and behaviour of such as appeared candidates 
for the magistracy at Athens, was, whether they 
had taken due care in celebrating the funerals 
and adorning the monuments of their relatives. 
Such was the idea of the polished Greek, incorpo- 
rated into the system of his Government, in the 
best days of the republic. It was pervaded no 
doubt with superstition : but it was a refined su- 
perstition, peculiar to the people who had sank 
the doctrine of the soul's immortality and of fu- 
ture rewards and punishments into poetical fic- 
tions. Even in this deteriorated form these mo- 
mentous truths had some moralizing influence. 
They shed a phosphorescent light upon the se- 
pulchre which mitigated the gloom it was too 
feeble to dispel. 

But, if by the dim light which was shed upon 
their immortality, they were led to regard with 
a scrupulous and reverent affection the relics of 
the dead, how much stronger should that affection 



84 



be in us, to whom immortality is clearly brought 
to light. To this as christians we should be mov- 
ed both by memory and by faith. Let memory hold 
in unfading remembrance all the tender and en- 
dearing passages of our by-gone intercourse with 
the departed — of whom we may have scarce- 
ly any earthly memento except their grave. 
Is it a child who lies there ? Make a chaplet of 
his smiles, and his childish pastimes, and the 
dawn of his reason, and the lisping of his piety, 
and go often to place it on his tomb. — Is it a 
friend, no matter of what name or relation ? Re- 
member the tokens of his affection, his contributions 
to your enjoyment ; the evidences of his piety, the 
deeds of his beneficence that still sweetly scent his 
name ; and live conformably to the hope of a reu- 
nion in heaven. Yes, every grave may have its 
history ; and wn"th a few solitary exceptions, ev- 
ery grave will have some survivors to read 
and love that history, and to protect its monu- 
ments. Neglecting this, we permit to fall into 
abeyance an important principle of our na- 
ture, that which prompts us to associate, even 
with the frailest memorials, both the past and 
the future ; which can build up the fairest vi- 
sions of love and friendship, even upon the pairing 
of a nail ; which once led a patriarch, and many 
in a long line of his descendants, to value the 
cave of Machpelah, where the dust of beloved ones 
lay, as one of the dearest portions of their earthly 
inheritance. " Bury me, said one of them, with 



85 



my fathers in the cave that is in the field of Ephron 
the Hittite. In the cave that is in the field of 
Machpelah, which is before Mamre in the land of 
Canaan, which Abraham bought with the field of 
Ephraim the Hittite for a possession of a bury- 
ing place. There they buried Abraham and Sarah 
his wife ; there they buried Isaac and Rebekah 
his wife ; and there I buried Leah and there 
also Jacob " was gathered unto his people." 

Nor let this desire be classed with the puling 
and sickly sentimentalism of which this fiction- 
loving age presents so many specimens. It ex- 
isted long antecedent to these pampering pro- 
ductions, in simple and primitive times, when 
faith was more powerful than fancy, and before 
the manly in man had been emasculated. It 
gained strength in the purest times of the Chris- 
tian church, for Christianity has this boast, that it 
teaches the proper dignity of man. Our Redeem- 
er was laid in the grave, and sanctified it, and 
rose from it, and hath given the world assurance, 
not only of the immortality of the soul, but also 
of the resurrection of the body ; and ever since 
the grave hath had in it a peculiar sacredness. 
It is still a prison indeed ; but the prisoners are 
prisoners of hope. It is a bed ; but out of it the 
slumberers shall awake. It is a night ; but after 
it shall come the dawn of an endless day The 
mortality that we commit to it shall put on 
immortality, and death shall be swallowed up in 
victory. Does it not become the Christian then, 

H 



86 



to look upon the graves of the departed with in- 
terest, with watchfulness, with affection. It 
contains a treasure. True that treasure is for a 
time dishonored. We have buried it out of our 
sight and death feeds upon it. In its dark abode 
it says to corruption, " thou art my father, and to 
the worm, thou art my brother and my sister. " 
It crumbles away until no vestige of its form and 
symmetry is discoverable. But he who gave that 
dust mortal life, can quicken it, will quicken it, 
into the life immortal. To us, therefore, because 
of the destiny that awaits him, the grave of the 
believer must always be a hallowed spot. Christ, 
who is the resurrection and the life, hath His eye 
upon it, however much it be neglected among men. 
By true Christians strong in faith and refined 
in sentiment, the church-yard should never be ne- 
glected. If devout men carry Stephen to his 
burial, is it too much to hope that devout men 
should protect his grave ? 

And here, in remembrance of the customs of 
our native land, still deeply imbued with the 
sentiments I am endeavouring to awaken, would 
I pay a tribute to its country church-yards. It 
seems most natural to wish that our last resting- 
place should be near that sanctuary, where we are 
taught to live well and to die in hope. It must 
contribute, one should think, to the deeper so- 
lemnity of the Sabbath, and to its sanctified use, 
to moralize for a moment ere we enter the house 
of God, over the graves of our departed acquaint- 



87 



ances and kindred ; to read the simple memo- 
rials that affection hath inscribed upon their tomb- 
stones ; to observe how many of our co-evals are 
slumbering below ; to forecast the hour when the 
grass shall be above our dust, as above theirs. 
Scenes like these in our devout frames give 
wideness to our conceptions, and tenderness to 
our heart. Eternity is there brought near ; a freer 
intercourse with the invisible world is enjoyed. 
We feel as if the spirits of the departed were hover- 
ing around us, and the place where their body 
sleeps — occasional visitants to that sacred house 
where they once worshipped and received the 
blessing which Christ dispenses to his people ; 
and where some still assemble to whom they are 
commissioned as ministering angels. The grave- 
yard around, and the church within it, is to our 
thoughts a connecting link between death and 
immortality. And it is worthy of the legislature 
of a Christian and united people to see to it,that this 
union shall always be maintained. In rural and 
thinly peopled districts it cannot be prejudicial to 
the public health, while it is congenial to our 
natural sentiments, and conducive to solemn and 
devout contemplation. 

But in cities generally, and in our own city, 
the Protestant places of interment present a very 
different condition. They lack order, continu- 
ance, retirement, and sacredness. Already has 
one Protestant burying ground been given up to 
the encroachments of a growing city, and once 



88 



more its successor is menaced with a change. 
Again the frail monuments are to be demolished; 
again the ashes of the departed are to be disturbed 
or left behind ; again the noise and bustle of the liv- 
ing world is to be let in upon the spot selected for 
their long repose. Already its crowded repo- 
sitories cannot suffice to receive the dead, and the 
unprotected, unclaimed grave, is consigned for 
a price to new claimants. And such is the 
closeness and confusion that prevails there, 
that the visitor can with difficulty find the 
narrow house where the remains of his friend 
have been laid, — and when found, there is nothing 
about it to soothe the eye of taste or of affection. 
And yet, break up even this, as expedience or ne- 
cessity may constrain to be done, the link is again 
broken that connects us with a former generation ; 
names are effaced which the hearts of multitudes 
desire to be preserved, at least during their own 
day, and the lessons are obliterated which the 
tombstones of the past might present to the exist- 
ing generation. All this, if it be a necessity, is a 
necessity to be deplored. It offers violence 
to our natural feelings. It prevents our ne- 
cropolis from obtaining an antiquity, a circum- 
stance which invests such places with a solemn 
and impressive charm. It is revolting to our 
associations, which leads us to attach a sacred 
value to the dust of the saints. It prevents any 
one from uttering the words which have in them 
a touching pathos — ^" all my nearest kindred are 



89 



buried there, and there I wish to be gathered to 
my people." 

It may be taken as one of the evidences of 
advancement in the present age — for which, 
however, we are indebted to the example of a 
very remote antiquity, and to nations whom we 
are very much disposed to treat as less advanced 
than our own in the progress of civilization, — 
that in most of the larger cities of Europe, better 
arrangements for the burial of the dead have been 
adopted, and more agreeable to the sentiments 
which Christianity fosters. Cemetries of suffi- 
cient extent, combining where it can be attained, 
a variety pleasing to the eye, and such decora- 
tions as are congenial with the design, are pro- 
jected and laid out, to which the population of 
the district, or the casual visitor may freely repair to 
spend an hour in those solemn meditations upon 
the fate of man by which the heart may be made 
better. In these, several important subsidiary 
objects are sought to be attained. They are lo- 
cated beyond the centre of population, but at 
some convenient distance from it ; areas are laid 
out, far larger than can ever be required for ac- 
tual interment. Localities are selected, where 
practicable, that admit by their inequalities some- 
thing of the picturesque. The art of the landscape 
designer is called in to create ornaments suitable 
to the scene, and the tasteful disposition of its 
paths and seclusions. Designed for this special 
pbject in perpetuity, all guarantees are secured 
h2 



90 



for the purpose. It is made attractive to the 
friend and visitor : for why should not the sepul- 
chre of the Christian, containing as it does relics 
so precious, be placed in the fairest spot of earth, 
where nature is clothed in her most beautiful 
forms, where everything around may remind 
however faintly, of the renovated world, where 
" the storm of wintry time shall all be past, and 
one unbounded spring encompass all." Abra- 
ham bought the fairest field in the plain of Mamre 
for a burying place ; he sought it because a cave 
was there to protect the dust he had not ceased 
to love ; he preferred it because the oak and the 
evergreen grew there, to soothe by their shade 
those whose affection might prompt to visit 
their tomb. And when the humanity of Chris- 
tendom shall become hallowed and refined like 
that of the old Hebrews, places shall be selected 
for the repose of the dead, which will allure, and 
not repel, the reminiscent and contemplative visits 
of those who loved them while alive, and who 
cannot forget them in their temporary separation. 

And were the population of this city, who are 
united in the fundamentals of a common faith, 
and who profess to be actuated by the lively hope 
of the same blessed resurrection, only possessed of 
the patriach's affection for the dust of their departed 
kindred, they could easily find in its environs 
a spot as lovely as the field of Ephron the Hit- 
tite ; and the tenderness of the old Hebrew, and 
the sumptuous taste of the ancient Egyptians 



would conspire with the purifying hopes of the 
Christian in stirring them without reluctance, 
" to weigh out the price, four hundred shekels of 
silver, current money, with the merchant." On 
some spot of the neighbouring mountain, from 
which the spectator could look down on the busy 
world below, and meditate on the brevity of its 
cares and disappointments, its sorrows and joys ; 
where the eastern sun sheds its earliest beams — 
emblem of that morn when all who sleep in the 
dust of the earth shall awake ; where nature with 
the helping hand of taste, could easily be persuaded 
to give every variety of walk and terrace, of pros- 
pect and seclusion ; where trees as branching and 
verdant as the oaks and terebinths of Palestine, 
could soon be made to spread their shade ; 
whither the thoughtful one who courted solitude 
and the aid of affecting mementoes, might with- 
in an hour transport himself; whither parents 
might within an hour lead their children to see 
how green the turf is upon the grave of their 
slumbering play-mate, and to inculcate upon them 
the solemn soothing lesson that to the good 
" death is gain whither the wronged and the 
care-worn might repair and obtain solace, by the 
contemplation of the scene where the wicked 
cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest ; 
which being within the view of all classes of the 
citizens might often give energy to the principles 
of rectitude, assuage the animosities of rivalship, 
and invigorate the pulsations of benevolence. 



92 



And a period might arrive, after this moun- 
tain necropolis had received the tenants of a cen- 
tury or more, when among its many monuments 
some would be found, inscribed with names still 
cherished in hallowed recollection, and a simple 
and unboastful memorial of their excellence, 
" strewed with many a holy text, which teach the 
rustic moralist to die." From all which the then 
existing generation might defive impressive les- 
sons of wisdom and virtue ; and strong incite- 
ments to follow in the path of those who have left 
behind them an honorable name. The obelisk of 
the patriot might be erected there, which multi- 
tudes might gaze on with grateful homage, 
when Canada shall have reached its higher poli- 
tical destiny. The tablet of the philanthropist 
might be erected there, to mark the spot where 
his ashes repose whose large and munificent li- 
berality continues to sustain the institutions that 
with him originated. The humbler grave-stone 
of the Christian minister may be there, to remind 
a race that knew him not, that their forefathers 
were profited by his teaching and his prayers. 
And there, upon all allotted points, would be 
found the family-burying-place, a spot of solemn 
interest to the surviving lineage, as shortly to be- 
come that, where they also, shall rest with their 
fathers. — It might thus become not only the place 
of secure protection to the mortal remains of the 
dead, whom we love and reverence, but of im- 
pressive admonition to the living whose moral 



93 



well-being we are required to promote by all the 
means adapted to our nature. 

The theme on which I have now allowed my- 
self to expatiate, would be deemed by you neither 
trivial or unimportant, did you set yourself to re- 
alize the certainty, that within no distant period, 
the dearest of those that are now entwined in your 
affections, and are the delight of your homes, 
will die ; and that, a day or two after, you will 
be constrained to say to some one in the lan- 
guage of the Father of the faithful, " give me a 
possession of a burying place with you that I 
may bury my dead out of my sight. " And sure 
I am, if nature in that hour of sorrow were al- 
lowed its fair scope, and if the heartless negli- 
gence of the community did not trammel you, 
you would bear out your dead, not to the cram- 
med and slovenly and ill-adorned receptacle 
into which this city's dead are now cast and 
forgotten; a place which you could not re- 
visit without the laceration of every feeling; 
— where you could not plant and tend the flower 
above their dust. Ah ! yon is not the place of 
flowers, though the turf that covers the Christian 
might well and properly be garnished with them; 
— where you could guide a friend in the hour 
of your tender remembrance to commemorate the 
virtues that never perish. No — this is not the 
place which in the hour of your grief you would 
select; — but you would choose one like that 
which Abraham selected for his Sarah in 



94 



another clime, in which the oak and ever- 
green spread the solemnity of their shade, where 
the flowers springs up on the sward, and 
the balmy air breathes freely around ; whither 
you could be allured in your thoughtful moods ; 
—and where full security was given to you and 
to your children, that their last resting place 
would never be violated. These sentiments are 
sanctioned alike by nature and religion ; and the 
man who in the hour of a sore bereavement can 
freely indulge them, is blessed with that which 
will mitigate his sorrow, and assist his prepara- 
tion for our common fate.* 

* Since the first publication of this discourse, the Protestant 
inhabitants of Montreal have purchased in the rear of the Moun- 
tain, 7 5 acres, for a public cemetery, possessing all the qualities 
which could be desired— the seclusion, the declivities, the shelter 
of woods, and a wide prospect from the summit elevaticni. One 
might wish, and as respects the locality it is the only wish which 
remains ungratified, that the present purchase were extended to 
the ridge beyond Mount Hope, commanding a full view of the 
city ; and that there were a shorter and easier access. This, it 
is said, will yet be attained. The grounds are already laid out 
with skill. Taste and time will accomplish the rest. 



ON GRAVES: 

A SERMON' 

Preached in St. Paul's Church, after the general selection of 
burying places in the Mount Royal Cemetery, October 24, 
1852. 



ON GRAVES: 



I. SERMON 

Preached in St. Paul's Church, after the general selection of 
burying places in the Mount Royal Cemetery, October 24, 
1852. 

She goeth unto the Grave to weep there. — John xi. 31. 

When we have watched by the bed-side of a 
dying friend, and witnessed his last breath, felt 
his last pulse, and seen the extinction of every 
sign of life and thought and feeling, we expe- 
rience very great difficulty in realizing the com- 
pleteness of the change. Death is so like sleep 
— so like a faint, only deeper, stiller, colder, 
longer, the impression will hold us even when 
we know it is to be vain, that the sleeper may 
yet awake, that the invalid may yet recover from 
his swoon, that the soul still resides in the mo- 
tionless frame or hovers near ; that only some 
slight influence is needed to stir up a new sensi- 
bility and thought. We have no more than a 
vague conception of the fact that the soul is for 
ever fled. We never saw the soul and can form 
no idea of its essence ; we never had any direct 
communication with it. It beamed in these eyes 
now closed ; it was lined on that countenance 
now rigid as marble ; it spoke through those lips 



9S 

now silent and compressed ; it animated that 
entire frame with intelligence and character.— 
These indications of its presence are now all gone, 
yet the frame that it animated, and w^hich had 
become to us the symbol of its being and pre- 
sence, is still apparently entire. To our eye 
it has suffered no great injury — no fatal disorgani- 
zation. Pale, and wasted perhaps, by long or 
sharp disease, yet wanting nothing save the pre- 
sence and power of mind to make it what it was 
only an hour ago, — a being of activity and anima- 
tion, of intelligence and love. 

This feeling of the smallness of the visible 
change between the state of life and the state of 
death which occupies us when we gaze upon a 
body which has just ceased to breathe, becomes 
materially modified, when after a day or two, we 
enter the chamber, where it is laid out and cof- 
fined, and clothed in its winding-sheet. When 
we approach and lift up the covering from the 
face, we perceive that the change is now great 
indeed. — These eyes sunk and glassy are sealed 
up in a slumber that shall never be broken. No 
sound will ever come forth from these lips. 
No sigh will ever be heaved from that bosom. 
That heart will never throb again either with joy 
or sorrow. That tabernacle deserted of its te- 
nant is now an inanimate and corruptible thing, 
dissolving into its original elements, and fit only 
to be borne away in the silence of sorrow, to the 
receptacle which has been consecrated for its re- 



99 



pose. While we affectionately reverence these 
mortal remains, we feel that our friend is no 
longer there ; that this unsightly ruin is only the 
instrument by which he once held communica- 
tion with us, and we honour and care for it in its 
desertion as still belonging to him. Called away 
by the Giver of life into another mode of existence 
he has left it for a while behind him. However 
humiliating the change now passing on the mor- 
tal and corruptible part, the immortal and incor- 
ruptible has sustained no dishonour, has fallen 
into no ruin, but has returned into the hands of a 
merciful Creator to inherit with enlarged faculties 
a completer felicity. But eye hath not seen this 
happier world. We cannot follow the departed 
within its precincts. In the sad hour of our be- 
reavement, we think only of our own loss, and we 
turn to the mouldering relics which most impres- 
sively remind us of it. And when these are 
buried from our sight, filled with tender recol- 
lections of one whom we shall see no more, un- 
til the grave shall give up its dead, we may go 
to that grave to weep there. How various the 
cause of those tears ! How diversified the source 
of these regrets ! That we may indulge some 
profitable reflections, let us pause for a moment 
near the graves which may suggest them. 

Some generation or two hence the field which 
we have purchased where we may bury our dead 
will have many occupants. Every slope will 
have its monuments ; every path its lowly memo- 

L.Ol 0. 



100 



rials. Of the living in that generation, some allur- 
ed by the beauties of the spot will repair thither 
to admire them; others perhaps for the better 
purpose of moralizing on the fate of man, and 
their own latter end. The laughter of the 
young and the light-hearted will there be check- 
ed by the mementoes of our mortality which shall 
everywhere meet the eye. The fortunate passing 
through its avenues, and reading its epitaphs, 
will learn the precariousness and instability of 
all earthly good. The happy family in their 
drive through it may not pass unheeded the 
numerous graves that speak of the disseverments 
which death hath wrought in families once as 
secure and smiling as their own. The man of 
anxious, restless enterprize, musing for a while 
near the tomb of one who, not long ago, was his 
fellow, or his competitor, may return to the pur- 
suit of his enterprizes in a temper befitting a be- 
ing who feels that his earthly career is bounded 
by very narrow limits. The aged, passing with 
tottering steps the spot where a coeval has long 
been interred, may turn with brightened hope to 
the immortality to which he himself is drawing 
near. Often led into such reflections, pious and 
thoughtful mefn will be more reconciled to their 
approaching dissolution, since to depart and to 
be with Christ is far better : — and they will go 
to the grave, not so much to weep there, as to 
cherish the hope which shines soothingly even 
amidst its darkness and tears. 



101 



We have spoken now of the dust and of the 
dead ; yet there is connected with every grave 
what is of much greater importance, the history 
of an actual life, — the life of that immortal being 
whose dust it contains. This history may be 
viewed in two parts, the one passed in the pre- 
sent world, the other beginning at death and con- 
tinuing for ever. Of the future immortal part, as 
it respects any individual, we can know little 
with certainty, and only so far as his earthly 
career may cast its light upon it. But even of 
this what poor and partial interpreters we are, es- 
pecially when the subject of it is our friend, late- 
ly passed away from our circle into the world of 
retribution. Of the life of most individuals we 
know little more than a few passages, some good, 
some bad, some flagrantly bad, it may be, and 
some nobly good ; and these, form their ostensible 
character, their palpable history. But we know 
little or nothing of the profounder workings of their 
moral nature, — of their true interior life, of their 
deep-rooted principles, occasionly overborne inac- 
tion, — of their prevailing sentiments, occasionally 
submerged by an opposite current, — of the com- 
punction with which they reviewed their errors,and 
the better purposes which rose up from the penir 
tence that successful temptation had embittered. 
All this the world can neither know or judge ; 
and whatever may be its judgment on the palpa- 
ble life of an individual, it is very much dispos- 
ed in its charity to take for granted the existence 
i2 



102 



of the unknown favorable symptoms, and to hope 
well of the everlasting condition of the dead. — 
Does it not seem to be the judgment of the world, 
the little world that clusters around every indivi- 
dual, and which assembles at his funeral, that 
the departed one has either lived the life of a good 
man, or, at least, that in the last stage, he has re- 
pented and been forgiven, and has consequently 
been admitted into the felicities of the heavenly 
paradise? The prevailing sentiment in the 
grave-yard would seem to be, that few or none 
die the death of the wicked ; that in point of fact 
no souls, or very few are lost ; that somehow 
nearly all, whatever, their past life may have been, 
are at the hour of death forgiven and sanctified 
and saved ; and to feel a fear, or to express a 
doubt of the eternal well-being of any one, would 
be deemed an evidence of uncharitableness or su- 
perstition. As if there were no exceptions and 
no doubt, the funeral assemblage, sometimes 
openly in its religious service, or more privately 
to one another, expresses a hope that the depart- 
ed has been raised to the joys of a better life, 
although few evidences may be discoverable on 
which to found such a hope. It cannot be that 
all who die are true believers in Christ Jesus and 
within the range and privilege of Christian bro- 
therhood. It cannot be under the government of 
a holy and righteous God, that however diversi- 
fied with good and evil the characters of men 
may be during their life, they shall all have at its 



ciose one character and one doom, — the charac- 
ter and doom of the righteous. Yet how many 
influences combine to foster this delusion. The 
Church fosters it by her indiscriminate expres- 
sions of a charitable hope ; men involved in the 
same guilt with the departed, and exposed to the 
same condemnation, readily fall in with the strain 
as a solace to their own fears ; the affectionate 
partiality of friends disposes them in the same 
way, and they express their hopes and eulogiums 
on the tablet and the tombstone. The horror 
v/hich every Christian feels in contemplating the 
loss of a soul makes him recoil all the more sen- 
sitively when it happens to be the possible loss 
of one whom he knew, and to whom he was ten- 
derly endeared. With all these influences com- 
bining to foster delusive partialities both as to 
the former life of the departed and their future 
fate, what wonder if many false judgments 
should be pronounced on both. And yet, where 
would a thoughtful man more earnestly wish the 
truth to be spoken of him than at his funeral, 
when his soul is done with the world and in the 
presence of God ; and where, were it only pos- 
sible that he could be a listener, would any 
thoughtful man have a greater aversion to un- 
merited praise than at his grave ^ Let truth pre- 
vail every where ; and most of all let nothing 
contrary to it be said near the dust of accountable 
man, at the very moment his soul is reaping in 
eternity exactly as it had sown in time, what- 
ever that may be. 



104 



But in every Christian land, in every age, tnen 
will arise and live and die, whose memories will 
be a fragrant perfume, and whose burial place 
will be held in veneration. One naturally wishes 
the graves of such to be selected in some retired 
and beautiful spot, to which one might repair in 
serious moments to muse and strengthen one's holy 
resolutions. Who has not felt the deep fountains 
of feeling stirred within him, standing beside the 
martyr's grave, designated by the rude headstone 
in the remote and solitary glen, where his body 
fell by the hand of the persecutor, and his soul 
triumphed amidst the last of human agonies. 
What a crowd of histories are imbedded in the 
uncouth rhymes incribed on this moss-covered 
memorial ! The persecuting tyranny that wasted 
the church ; the persevering constancy with which 
the faithful endured it; the small company of 
worshippers on the hill-side, tuning unharmo- 
niously the psalm expressive of the Church's 
confidence in God ; watching with high princi- 
pled decision the approach of the enemy ; 
experiencing the sublime consolation which God 
vouchsafes to his people in the seasons of severe 
trials ; bearing without resentment the soldier's 
gibe, and gazing without fear at his deadly 
weapon already levelled at their life ; having 
lived devotedly for their master, they calmly died 
for his crown and covenant. What man in 
moments of deep and serious thought can yield 
himself up to associations like these, without 



105 



feeling how good and grand it is to devote one- 
self to the maintenance of a righteous cause, and 
if need be to die for it ; and how miserable must 
their conduct appear who set themselves in 
opposition to it, though kings and nobles approve 
their doings, and clothe them for the purpose 
with rank and power. At that moment we 
strongly feel how much Christianity is indebted 
to these faithful witnesses for the truth through 
whom it hath come down to our day with 
undimmed lustre. We may not weep at their 
grave, for the martyred dead are beyond the 
sympathy of tears ; — but we must admire their 
heroic example and draw inspiration from their 
virtues. 

It will be matter for congratulation not for regret, 
if the place to be consecrated for the burial of 
our dead shall remain unhallowed by the martyr's 
grave — the offering presented to the church mili- 
tant by intolerant and persecuting times. But 
the time will no doubt arrive, when it will be 
hallowed by the dust of multitudes who mani- 
fested in their life the genuine spirit of Christian 
confessors, and left behind them enduring mo- 
numents of utility and beneficence, suggested, it 
may be, by a single word in their epitaph, or by 
nothing more than the doer's name. The name 
of some who honored official station by the faith- 
ful discharge of its duties ; of some who drew 
from the resources of opulence a wisely-dealt 
and munificent liberality ; of some who main- 



106 



tained the cause of the orphan and the stranger ; 
of some who were always the leaders in every 
Christian enterprize ; of some who patiently bore 
the shock of adverse fortune ; of some who 
reposed with hope in God and submission to his 
will amidst the decay and darkness of approaching 
dissolution. In this city of the dead, when it 
shall have become peopled, the men of another 
generation, retiring for an hour from the busy 
world, to ruminate on the lot of humanity, may 
find, as they pass along its avenues and read its 
monuments, brief mementos that shall bring 
human life up in all its phases : and in the mul- 
titude of their thoughts within them the convic- 
tion may be deepened, that goodness is the 
noblest distinction of man, whatever his condition 
be ; and they may be moved to utter the prayer 
with an appropriate fervency, " let me die the 
death of the righteous, and let my last end be 
like his." 

With these general reflections, permit me to 
connect one or two special admonitions, which 
by the blessing of God, may persuade us into the 
course of life that will leave cheering memories 
behind it to comfort our surviving friends when 
like Mary, they go out to the grave, not to weep 
over the dead, but to cherish the purposes of a 
godly life, and the hope of a blessed resurrection. 

Never forget that true reflection suggested by 
the grave of one who has lived a careless and 
irreligious life cannot fail to be shaded with sor- 



107 



row ; and if you would not have surviving friends 
go to your grave to weep there, your] proper 
course and duty is to avoid the occasion. 

At the grave of a departed friend, the Christian 
survivor will contrast the eternal retribution of 
that friend, with the history of the life that he 
has led. If he has manifestly lived without God 
in the world, in the neglect of those sacred ordi- 
nances, by which the soul is nurtured to holiness, 
is there not much cause for sorrow ? Nor will 
this sorrow be materially alleviated by any recol- 
lection of amiable dispositions, and acts of per- 
sonal kindness. With the judgment seat of God 
before us, the issue does not lie between our 
departed friend and us, nor between Him and 
the world, but between Him as an accountable 
being and the Judge of all. True, we cannot 
certainly discover how He may stand in this 
respect. Yet what rational being who has the 
law before him, and the life of a moral probationer, 
can refrain from passing some judgment on the 
palpable manifestations of that life as compared 
with the positive requirements of that law. At 
the very moment that we shrink from the conjec- 
ture of what His fate may be in eternity, we may 
be irresistibly led to review what His character 
was in time, and in the degree in which that review 
is unfavorable to Him will be the sadness of our 
recollections and the bewilderment of our hopes. 
Observe, too, that in these affecting circumstances 
with the grave of our departed friend at our feet 



108 



and with faith resting on His immortality, our 
thoughts will turn almost exclusively to His 
religious character since it is this which will give 
complexion to his immortal destiny. Our thoughts 
will then turn not to His diligence and probity 
in the ordinary transaction of the world, nor to 
His pleasing and kindly bearing in social inter- 
course, nor to the estimation in which He was 
held by the community for His many excellent 
qualities, for all these may consist with the entire 
absence of every religious element ; but when 
we seek for ground, on which we may rest our 
hope of the eternal well being of our departed 
friend, we turn in search of those qualities which 
more immediately connect the sonl with God and 
immortality— to the manifestation of the religious 
sentimenis, nurtured in the appointed manner, 
and giving distinct evidence of their existence 
in a suitable deportment. Where these are not 
found, or found only in a feeble and doubtful 
degree, in the life of a departed friend, would it 
be possible for an enlightened Christian to go to 
his grave for another purpose than to weep there ; 
and that, too, even though a late repentance may 
afford some hope that he passed at his last hour 
into the better world. Gratitude for that mercy 
which snatched him as a brand from the burning 
will in such a case be mingled with regrets that 
this mercy had been repelled and dishonoured in 
the whole course of his antecedent life. Reflec- 
tions of this kind, irresistibly suggested at the 



109 



grave of one who has lived a careless and irreli* 
gious life, should awaken in our own bosom 
some solicitude about the train of reflections 
which our own grave may suggest to the minds 
of endeared survivors. It should prompt us so 
to live as that the hope of our future well-being 
may have a sure foundation. This will dry 
up the tears of the mourner ; for the memory of 
the just is blessed. 

Never forget that the reflections suggested 
at the graves of those who have fallen asleep in 
Jesus should be bright with hope. 

The tears of the Christian may dim the eye of 
hope during the first paroxysm of grief and the 
first days of bereavement. The survivor is then 
prone to think only on what he has lost, and for a 
time he cannot forget his sorrow. But better 
thoughts come apace, embued with gratitude and 
radiant with hope, on account of the happy 
transition which the departed one has made into 
a sinless and deathless world. Nor is this hope 
a vague, dreamy, baseless thing, that would perish 
before the searching investigations of reason. 
Founded on the immutable and beneficent 
arrangements of a merciful Creator, which con- 
nect our mortal history with our immortal doom, 
and ensure the gift of everlasting life to all who 
believe in the Son of God, we feel assured, from 
the clear evidences of this faith presented in the 
lifetime of the true Christian, that for him to die 
was gain, and beside the resting-place of his dust 

K 



this assurance that he has passed- ten death ntitxf 
life^oh, how full of consolation ! To be assurssd- 
that the friend, whom, a few days ago^ we lost in 
the valley of the shadow of death, has tmverj^d 
it safely into the world of spirits beyond, with all 
the entireness of his spiritual nature ; that, though 
now invisible, he is not far away ; that, after a; 
brief interval of separation, we shall follow him; 
by the same path, and become his associate again 
in the immediate presence of our Redeemer, 
—is there not enough, in this deep and sure con- 
viction, to soothe the sadness of bereavement, 
and to allure the soul onward in its immortal 
career ? There may be seasons when even 
beside the grave of a friend, or the spot that is 
designated for our own, sense shall carry it 
against faith, and the attractions of the scene, or 
the pleasures of a living companionship, shall 
arrest every thought upon the present and the 
earthly ; when the heart, yielding to immediate 
impressions, feels no union or sympathy with 
those whom death has removed from us; but 
reviving faith will, at other seasons, control the 
influence of sense, and, conducting us within the 
veil into the presence of immortal natures, will 
refine our sentiments with the prospect of their 
pure fellowship. This vivid state of spiritual 
apprehension is not dependent on locality, but on 
the energetic exercise of our faculties, and the 
quickening inspiration of divine grace. Yet 
impressive associations, connected; with th^ 



Ill 



graves of pious kindred, have a powerful influence 
pvex the soul in its tender, contemplative moods, 
and wisdom admonishes us to improve these 
moments for enlivening our apprehensions of the 
invisible world, and enlarging our sympathies 
with the spirits of the just who have entered it. 
Aim after this, ye children of immortality, when 
ye visit the sepulchres of the dead.* You will 
then return to the scenes of the busy world with 
a firmer resolution to fulfil faithfully your allotted 
task, animated and cheered with the hope that, 
after it is finished, you will obtain a place among 
those who have entered into their Master's joy. 

When in the burying-place of the dead we 
contemplate with sorrow and humiliation the 
end of the Christian as an inhabitant of the presejit 
world, never forget to connect with it his destiny 
in the next with consolation and hope. 

To soothe one of the sorrowing sisters at the 
grave of Lazarus, Jesus, the Resurection and the 
Life, said to her, " Thy brother shall rise again." 
Her creed was in unison with the doctrine, and 
she replied, " I know that he shall rise again in 
ihe resurrection at the last day." In the belief of 
ithe resurrection of the dead and the life everlast- 
ing, now encircled with brighter evidence, we 
;also from our childhood are trained. Hence we 
guard their dust with a holier reverence, and 

* The churchyard darken'd by the yew-tree's shade, 

And rich with many a rudely-sculptured tale 

Of friends beneath its turf sepulchral laid, 

Of human .tears that flpw, of earthly hopes that fswi*. 



112 



associate with their sepulchres the most consola- 
tory of our hopes. Believing, as we do, in the 
distinct nature and immortality of the soul, it 
might seem a thing of less moment that its cor- 
poreal casement should be permitted to sink into 
irretrievable ruin ; that, born of the earth and earthy, 
it should mingle with its native elements, and be 
as water spilt upon the ground to be gathered no 
more. To our unassisted eye this might seem 
its natural and unavoidable fate. It moulders 
into the surrounding soil ; its elements enter into 
new combinations, giving substance to the 
flower which affection has planted, and expand- 
ing the leaf of the tree that overshadows it. But 
faith does not perplex itself with the question> 
how the mighty power, that subdueth all things, 
shall collect the scattered elements of the vile 
body, and fashion them anew into a glorious one. 
True science, always humble, confesses that 
within the compass of natural laws there are 
many processes too remote and too complicated 
to come within the range of its limited vision ; 
while humble faith reposes in the power and 
veracity of the Creator, assured that what He hath 
spoken will come to pass. In every grave there 
lies in His safe keeping a deposit, the essential 
constituents of a frame which, in the morning of 
the resurrection, will he raised " a spiritual body," 
clothed with immortality, and prepared for an 
everlasting union with the mind to which it 
belongs. Faith thus invests the grave with a 



lid 

peculiar sanctity by declaring the indestractible 
identity and the future resurrection of those who 
are slumbering within it. Amidst the perpetual 
mutations of surrounding nature, immutability, 
in one point at least, is certain in the region of the 
dead. The indestructable elements of the slumb- 
ering occupant, safe in the hand of its Eternal 
Guardian, will hear, in the morning of the resur- 
rection, the trumpet of the archangel, and 
spring into the combination of a new life,— - 
the deathless inheritor of a nobler being. 
Elevated and soothed by such sentiments, the 
visitor of the burying-place of the dead will 
return to the toils and pursuits of the busy world 
with the feelings and habits of one who knows 
that he shortly must leave them to meet the retri- 
butions of eternity. 



ON GRAYESs 

n. SERMOlf. 
Death— Hov cam« it f 



ON GRAVES: 

II. SERMON. 
Death — Ho-w came it f 



Sin entered into the world, and death by sin. — Rom. r. 12. 

Faith delights to expatiate over a world in 
which there is no death. We have but to trans- 
port ourselves into regions, peopled by the unsin- 
ning orders of creation, and we discover no trace 
of this desolating destroyer. The inhabitants 
enjoy the freshness of immortal youth. Ages 
roll on, and no perfection, no joy is impaired. 
Tears and pains, bereavements and trials, sepul- 
chres and tombs, are things unknown in the 
regions of immortality. 

Nor are we left to the vagueness of conjecture 
as to the cause of this immortal blessedness of the 
celestial orders. They are like God in their 
immortality, because they are like God in their 
holiness. God regards them with complacency, 
delights in them as His children, and from Him 
they inherit everlasting life. However different 
the scenes of earth now be from those of the 
upper world, we make no unwarranted assertion, 
when we affirm that in all the essential charac- 
teristics of his nature, man, the inhabitant of 
earth, like the inhabitant of heaven, was made 



118 



after the similitude of God, and that immortality 
was an original attribute of his nature. It can- 
not be denied, indeed, that our actual observa- 
tion of humanity gives little countenance to this 
idea. We can discover no trace of immortality 
in the present constitution of man, nor in that 
of any being around us. Decay and reproduction 
is the law of all terrestrial existence. Nor can 
we discover any latent quality in our corporeal 
nature that should exempt it from this law ; and 
during nearly 6000 years death has been mowing 
down successive generations as surely as autumn 
scatters the foliage of the forest. Dust to dust is 
the existing law of our being. 

In explanation of this remarkable fact, it 
sometimes stated, that all animal forms are 
naturally corruptible ; that in them there is ,an 
inherent principle of decay ; that the vital powers 
are not competent to resist for any length of timp 
the wear and tear to which they are subjected ; 
in short, that decay and dissolution result neces- 
sarily from the gross material elements of which 
our bodies are framed. But this opinion has 
arisen from a narrow, short-sighted observation. 
We know that the human frame is now frail ajcid 
mortal ; but to ascribe this to any inherent essen- 
tial imperfection of the elements out of which it 
is constructed is to aflirm that whic,h philosphy 
cannot demonstrate. Matter and immortality is 
pot an inipossible combination. Angelic beings, 
Ip^r aught we know, are clothe4 in m^tejri^ • 



and it is expressly declared, that flesh and blood 
after the resurrection, when refined and purified, 
shall inherit the heavenly world, into which 
Christ, our forerunner, has entered with all His 
material humanity around Him. It is therefore 
unwarrantable to affirm that dissolution is an 
unavoidable quality of our material frame ; and 
that because of this death is an original law of 
our being, Man, as he came from the hands of 
the Creator, was naturally immortal. In this 
respect, also, he was created in the image of 
God. The Tree of Life, which, in his state of 
innocence, he was permitted to eat, was less the 
nutriment of immortality, than the sacramental 
emblem of the Divine favour. Had man continued 
in his condition of innocence, death Would no 
more have been known on earth than in heaven. 
The pure spirit would never have been rudely 
dislodged by death from its pure body : created 
one being, they would have continued one being 
for ever. It might have passed through transfbr- 
mations in its onward progress, like that of which 
the Apostle speaks, when he says, " We shall 
not all sleep, but we shall all be changed but 
in the original and holy nature of man there was 
no cause of pain, no elements of decay, no 
necessity for his tasting death, in order that the 
purpose of God might be accomplished in him. 
Nor could anything reverse this law of immor- 
tality but sin, and the sentence of God upon it, 
" J?3/ sin came deaths According to th6 immu- 



m 



table law of God's holy government, " the soul 
that sinneth it shall die.'' 

By those who pay little deference to what 
Sacred Scripture teaches on this subject, the 
punitive nature of death is overlooked, and the 
melancholy change, with all its painful accom- 
paniments, is talked of as a necessary condi- 
tion of life. It is affirmed that with a frame like 
ours, produced in weakness, liable to mistreat- 
ment, obnoxious to external injury, to the war 
and insalubrity of the elements, to poisonous 
substances in every kingdom of nature, and 
above all to the irregular and destructive action 
of its own powers, — pain and disease, and dis- 
solution, are the necessary and unavoidable con- 
comitants of life : and it cannot well be denied 
that the conclusion is legitimately drawn from the 
actually existing arrangements both in the ani- 
mate and inanimate world. The causes of pain 
and death are now so numerous within and 
around us that we can scarcely help regarding 
them as natural causes, or in other words the re- 
sults of laws ordained by the Creator. Excess of 
heat, or of cold ; the stroke of a hurricane, or 
the heaving of an earthquake ; a sirocco from the 
desert, or an exhalation from the marsh ; the fang 
of a serpent, or the poison of a weed, — may each 
in their effects upon the human frame destroy it. 
And apart from these it is not in our power to 
avert the ravages of time and of decay. To 
decline is as much the present order of nature as 



1^1 



lo grow : and, had we nought to enlighten us on 
the subject but the history of human observa- 
tion, we might conclude that the gTave was the 
original destiny of man. Human knowledge, 
in so far as the light of nature is concerned, is 
built on observation ; and all observation inclines 
to establish the natural mortality of man. But, 
appealing to Scripture, we obtain views of the 
Divine purposes which place the subject in a very 
different light : here we are informed that death 
came upon all men, for that all have sinned ; that, 
when man became a sinner, God began to deal 
with him as a culprit ; that, the earth was cursed 
for his sins' sake ; that originating in his guilt, 
various disorders entered into his physical frame, 
which have been developed in every form of suf- 
fering, and in that sweeping mortality wliich 
hath brought all preceding generations to the 
dust. The sting of death is sin, and its cause is 
in the displeasure of God. No human power 
can arrest its progress. Medical skill can miti- 
gate the pains of disease : but it has not yet 
succeeded in adding a single month to the average 
duration of human life. The boasted march of 
science has not blunted the scythe of this ruthless 
conqueror; and helpless infancy, and smiling 
beauty, and vigorous manhood, and hoary hairs, 
are still as much his victims as in all preceding 
time. An offended Deity has given the destroyer 
his commission, and none can disannul it. 

Nor can we shut our eyes upon the fact, that 

L 



122 



death is accompanied with many circnmstances, 
as it affects man, which strikingly indicate its 
punitive character. Even where the pains of 
disease and the bitterness of death have not 
been aggravated by the grossly sinful life of the 
sufferer, we see enough to demonstrate the dis- 
pleasure of Heaven. Enter into the chamber of 
the mildest and most virtuous of human beings 
upon whom incurable disease has laid its hand, 
and we discover enough in the languor, the rest- 
lessness, the pain, the anxious anticipation for 
self, the tender solicitude about others, to remind 
us of its origin. If death were simply a natural 
transition and not a curse, one should believe that 
under the arrangements of a benevolent Creator 
it had come over man like the gentle falling of 
soft sleep, and without any humiliating accom- 
paniments ; that without painful regret or anxious 
fear the dying one had quietly composed himself 
for the long slumber that his destiny had prepared 
for him ; that surrounding friends would have 
accompanied the departing spirit with a grate- 
ful hymn, as for one who had finished well his 
course and was passing away into some happier 
sphere. But we rarely witness a scene like this 
in the chamber of death. It is the scene in 
which are taught the severest lessons of human 
frailty. As we look on the feeble and emaciated 
form, the shrunk features, the lustreless eye, the 
parched lips, the laborious breathing, the tide of 
life ebbing away from its extreme channels, the 



m 

faculties of the mind oppressed or manifested in 
irregular and delirious exercise^ the lividness of 
corruption already breaking out on the sinking 
frame, we ask, why is the passage to the tomb so 
gloomy? Why so humiliating ? Why so full of 
weariness and pain? Why a thing to shrink 
from with such aversion and fear ? Is it not an 
indication that the sufferer is not in favour with 
his God ? — that he departs from life, as he enters 
it, under the effects of a curse ? All the cir- 
cumstances are framed to remind us of the 
melancholy fact that " by sin came death ;" and 
the penalty is inflicted upon every child of 
Adam, " for that all have sinned." 

But, while we are thus instructed to view death 
as the penalty of sin, we are not warranted to 
draw any conclusions, from the time and manner of 
it, respecting the degree of guilt of any individ- 
ual in the judgement of God. A painful or an 
untimely death is no certain evidence of His 
heavy displeasure, any more than a protracted 
life is a certain evidence of His approbation. The 
issues of life are with Him and He accounts to 
none for the duration of their flow or the sudden- 
ness of their cessation. How often have we 
seen the meek, the gentle, the devout, burdened 
during the whole of their brief life with all the 
infirmities of a sickly constitution, while the 
vicious and ungodly have lived to hoary hairs 
without experiencing an ache ! How often have 
we seen the man of exemplary life, sink under one 



124 



of those distressing maladies in which human 
patience is tried to the utmost, and closing the 
scene in sad and mournful darkness, while his 
neighbour, who scarcely ever acknowledged God 
in any act of piety, sinks gently into the arms of 
death without suffering or concern. In all such 
cases the procedure of God is doubtless regulated 
according to fixed laws; but the operation of 
these laws is not altogether dependent on the 
conduct of the individual. The peculiar consti- 
tution of our body is an inheritance. Whatever be 
its qualities, it descends to us without our choice. 
The seeds of pain and weakness and mortality 
are indeed in every frame — this is the universal 
curse connected with its sinfulness : but in vari- 
ous degrees in different individuals. In some 
they lie long dormant ; in others they ripen 
speedily. The ripening process may depend upon 
circumstances over which the individual has no 
controul: upon the care that watches over his early 
years ; upon the salubrious locality of his home ; 
or upon the occupation in which he is engaged. 
In other cases the ripening of the latent seeds 
of disease depends more upon the individual 
himself. His affections and habits are virtuous 
and orderly, and his constitution exposed to no 
outrage, is preserved in health : or otherwise, he 
yields himself to the indulgence of unbridled appe- 
tite, and hereditary weakness is early developed. 
Between those causes and the time and manner of 
death there is probably a determinate relation, so 



125 



that the event is a result naturallyflowing from them; 
but, except in a few cases, that result cannot afford 
any data for determining the personal guilt of the 
individual. Mortality, and all that leads to it, 'is 
an evidence of the curse ; but the accidents of 
time and chance afford no clue to the degree of 
their guilt upon whom the curse has fallen. 
" There is one event to the righteous and the 
wicked ; to him that feareth God, and to him that 
feareth Him not." 

The law of mortality, then, of which the text 
speaks, is a consequence of sin, and must be 
viewed in the light of a penalty and curse : yet, 
viewing it in its general effects upon the world, we 
may discover in it, nevertheless, numerous mitiga- 
tions and a large measure of benignity. To illus- 
trate this point, let us suppose that it had not 
been superinduced upon our sinful condition ; that 
the offended Law-giver had doomed the sinner to 
expiate in this world without a remedy the full 
measure of the penalty annexed to the violation 
of His law, of which temporal death is only a 
small part. Then this earth had become the scene 
of an immortal guilt and punishment. And, oh, 
what would that scene have been, both as it res- 
pects the moral and physical condition of our race! 
History furnishes us with an approximate solu- 
tion to the former query — the effect of the longev- 
ity of fallen creatures upon the moral condition 
of the world. Within a few centuries the earth 
was filled with violence and blood : all flesh had 



126 



corrupted their way, until it repented the Lord 
that he had made man ! But on the supposition, 
that the doom of mortality had not been inflicted 
on' man, and that the human race had been left 
to spend their deathless existence on earth, their 
wickedness having free scope in its guilt and in 
its consequences, what then had been the con- 
dition of our world ? Crowded with offenders 
whose hardihood in sin had increased for ages I 
Cain and his godless descendants had yet been 
sojourners upon it, covered with the aggravated 
ungodliness of 6000 years : the antediluvian na- 
tions, on account of whose wickedness, it is said, 
"God was grieved at His heart," had been 
advanced in the career of crime 6000 years, 
for crime in the soul of man knows no stay, and 
rolls not backward ; the cities of the plain whose 
wickedness had reached up to the heavens had 
still survived in the ever deepening sea of their 
abominations ; the Canaanites had been still fill- 
ing up the measure of their iniquities, and reaping 
their reward. In short, depravity would have 
been immortal like its subjects, darkening still 
with advancing time and increasing still with 
increased perpetrators. Imagination is quite 
powerless in figuring to itself what had been the 
depth of human wickedness long ere the world 
had reached half its present age ! But let us 
connect with this aggravated guilt, not only its 
natural consequences, but the punishment due to 
it under the adrninistration of the holy Lawgiver, 



127 



and what then had been the condition of our 
sinful race? Hateful and malignant passions 
embittered for ages, — appetites fierce and lawless 
in their demands, strengthened by indulgence 
for ages, — the perpetual war of contending pas- 
sions and deeds among nations who could not 
destroy each other in battle, — fancy sickens and 
is confounded at the consequences necessarily 
flowing from its own supposition. Nor, in con- 
formity with it, can any mitigating element be 
admitted. For apart from the grace of God, 
(which mnst be excluded on the supposition that 
no economy of salvation had been introduced, 
and that the sinner should suffer the penalty of 
sin upon earth,) conscience would have tormented 
but it would have imposed no restraints upon 
human wickedness ; amidst such unmitigated 
moral disorders, the intellectual nature of man 
could make no advancement ; science could 
not be cultivated, literature could diffuse no 
refinement, art could have carried out no useful 
inventions ; these benefits are concomitants of that 
remedial dispensation established under the Son 
of God. But apart from this, and under the 
supposed condition that earth had been ordained 
the sphere wherein man's depravity would be left 
to work out its full measure of guilt and punish- 
ment, none of these advantages could have 
existed. We should have witnessed only man 
enduring the wrath of God, mind embruted, 
passion and appetite rei gning uncontrouled , univer- 



128 



sal anarchy, our physical form exempted, indeed, 
from death, but marred by violence and loaded 
with accumulated maladies ; and pain, as an 
undying worm, preying upon that which it could 
not destroy. Earth then had been as hell, and 
men as demons. But God had other designs, 
and among the rest, that man's guilt should not 
meet with a full retribution in the present world ; 
and therefore the law of mortality was super- 
induced. By it the sinner is cut short in his 
career upon earth, and removed to another state, 
to abide the sentence of his judge there. The 
effect of this arrangement, upon the general 
condition of man upon the earth, is beneficent. The 
corruption of individuals is restrained from its 
full developement. The wicked can exhibit their 
pestilent example at most only for a few years. 
They have scarce exceeded the natural infancy 
of crime before they are removed, and by their 
removal sin is checked. The noxious plant is 
cut down before it has fully cast its seed. The 
new generation forgets the wickedness of the 
past and is busied with its own ; and thus death, 
which forms part of the penalty of sin, tends to 
counteract its evil upon succeeding generations. 

This peculiar effect of the law of mortality, 
which, though a portion of the curse and punish- 
ment of sin, is, nevertheless, under the mediatorial 
government of the Son of God, converted into a 
benefit, is continually being forced upon the 
observation of mankind. How often have nations 



1^9 



witnessed the usurper and tyrant cruelly exercise 
his lawless power, and entrench himself securely 
even by the arms of the oppressed ; liberty had 
expired, and patriotism had hid itself in secret 
places to sigh and weep ; despair had settled on 
the nation's heart, and there was no help in man. 
But death came, to whom the most powerful must 
yield, struck the iron rod from the hand of tyranny, 
and set the oppressed free. How often have 
combinations of men, directing the affairs of state, 
actuated by unholy ambition, delighting in what 
is called the pomp and circumstance of glorious 
war, consuming on its pile the wealth and happi- 
ness of an empire, and carrying far the destructive 
brand for the desolation of other countries, 
entrenched themselves in office, held the military 
force at their disposal, won over even the suffrage 
of the multitude, a ad no end appeared to the 
fatal game, when, at the very moment that the 
enlightened and merciful were sighing most 
deeply in secret over the public misery, a bolt 
from heaven struck the key stone out of the 
inhuman confederacy ; with the death of the 
guiding spirit, the cabinet was dissolved, a new 
and happier order of things commenced, and the 
peaceful arts of humanity were once more per- 
mitted to reign. Death is daily working similar 
revolutions in every condition of society : he is 
removing stumbling-blocks out of the way which 
nought else could have touched. And thus in 
the present condition of the world, the law of 



130 



morality, though resulting from the displeasure 
of God, mitigates, in many ways, the curse pro- 
nounced against sin. True, it is sometimes an 
aggravation of that curse. It sweeps away also 
the enlightened, the wise, the patriotic, the prop 
of a policy that blesses millions, the holy exam- 
ples that inspire with new life a nation's piety, 
the patriarch of good report who sustained 
the cause of godliness in the village of his habi- 
tation ; all these aggravations often happen, for 
death in his commission to destroy makes no 
exceptions, and whatever be the nature of con- 
comitant circumstances, the punitive characters 
of the evil is sufficiently manifest. The wages 
of sin is death. 

But even those partial views which we have 
now presented, lead obviously to the conclusion, 
that death cannot exhaust the whole of the judi- 
cial curse ; that it is only a part, and a very small 
part of the foredoomed penalty. Death is a change 
in the sinner's state, but not a change in the 
sinner's nature. It consigns to dust the material 
instrument with which the embodied soul 
wrought ; but it cannot effect any change upon 
the soul itself. It breaks off its relation to earth, 
but has no power to reconcile it to God. When the 
soul stands disembodied at the judgment seat, 
even though the deeds done in the body, and the 
habits formed were not revived there, it carries 
with it an inherent depravity, sufficient to require 
its exclusion from heaven. The penalty', therefore. 



131 



must still follow it unmitigated in its demands. 
It has carried into its new condition of being a 
nature at enmity with God, and what then can 
be its fate but everlasting banishment from the 
presence of God, and the beatitude of heaven ? 
This view of the case is apt to be forgotten. 
Many seem to entertain the vague idea that all 
pollution is connected with the body ; that it shall 
be laid with it in the grave, and have no resur- 
rection. Forgetting that the soul is the moral 
being ; that all sin has its seat within it ; that the 
body is rather the instrument than the cause of sin ; 
that the soul is chargeable with the excess and 
irregularity of every appetite ; and so far from it 
being the fact, that it is the sinful part which 
sinks under the law of morality, it cannot be 
touched by it, but returns, entire and just as it 
is, unto God that gave it. Were the soul defiled, 
only because of its connection with a distempered 
body, there might be some reason to hope that 
the whole amount of the penalty might be 
exhausted in the inflicted doom of its dissolution, 
and that the spirit set free from its sinful incum- 
brance, might rise pure and spotless up to the 
inheritance of the saints in light. But alas, we 
can indulge no dream like this either in reference 
to the sinner's death, or the sinner's eternity. 
The seat of moral defilement is in the soul ; upon 
it we charge enmity to God : it has been the 
moving power in the whole career of disobedi- 
ence : and the dropping its material investment 



can produce no change in its essential nature* 
Whatever that be, it shall be arraigned before the 
tribunal of eternal justice, and receive from the 
Holy One accordingly. 

Without farther dilating on this point, we close 
with the remark, that death — that portion of the 
curse which affects the body alone, is only of 
temporary duration, and will be annulled at the 
resurrection. " For since by man came death^ 
by man came also the resurrection of the dead." 
" For as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be 
made alive" — a scripture that manifestly refers 
to the resurrection of the body. As one essential 
constituent of man's nature, it will be redeemed 
from the power of the grave, and be reunited to 
the soul, to prepare it for the full possesion of its 
immortality. In reference to the dead in Christ, 
the saints of God, it is declared, that God shall, 
in the resurrection, change their vile bodies and 
fashion them like after Christ's glorious body." 
With respect to those who die in unbelief, we know 
also that their bodies shall be raised from the dust 
to become the incorruptible tenements of souls that 
shall never die. But we have no reason to con- 
clude that the bodies of the wicked, though 
raised incorruptible, shall be set free from all the 
infirmities of time. No intimation is given on 
which we might found the conjecture that they 
will be raised in a slate different from that in 
which they spent and finished life, except that 
they shall be set {^ee from the law of mortality. 



133 



For aught that appears, they shall rise with all 
their deformities, with all their appetites, with 
all their wickednesses arid pains, with all the 
vicious expression that time had drawn upon the 
physical form. As death made no change on 
the character of the soul, so it shall make none 
on that of the body. Unpardoned sinners shall 
continue to bear the image of the earthly : and 
whatever change may accompany the resurrection 
they shall carry with them for ever the pollution 
of sin, and shall bear for ever the endurance of its 
penalty. 

Views like these are fraught with the deepest 
solemnity of administration. They call loudly 
upon us to consider our ways. They remind us 
that all we do has the stamp of immortality upon 
it; that our thoughts, feelings, habits, become 
portions of an imperishable record, inscribed on 
the unfading remembrance of a deathless being, 
as surely as it is inscribed on the imperishable 
record of omniscience. The one shall be an 
everlasting fac-simile of the other, and the doom 
of every individual shall be correspondent. " To 
them, who by patient continuance in well-doing 
seek for glory and honor and immortality, — the 
doom of eternal life : but unto them that are con- 
tentious and do not obey the truth, but obey un- 
righteousness, upon every soul of man that doeth 
evil, shall be the doom of indignation and wrath, 
m tribulation and anguish from God, the just and the 
holy one, who is a consuming fire to his enemieB> 

K 



ON GRAVESt 

• III. SERMON. 
Death— What is it I 



ON GRAVES: 

III SERMON. 
Death— What is it? 



Death shall feed on them ; and their beauty shall consume in the 
gi'ave from their dwelling. — Psalm xlijE. v. 14, 

Few subjects are more familiar to the reflect- 
ing, than that presented in the words we have read, 
and yet it remains as clo'sely involved as ever in 
its own peculiar darkness and mystery — for who 
has fully comprehended or can fully explain 
what death denotes and carries with it? In 
the first language which admitted the term — 
it signifies the failure of all the powers and 
functions of life ; in another, it signifies cor- 
ruption or putrefaction ; in our own, the mortal 
change is variously expressed, as to expire, 
to give up the ghost, to depart — by dissolution, 
and sometimes by the word sleep^ with which 
the state of death has some points of resemblance. 

But in this case, as in many others, the origin of 
terms assists us only a little way in the knowledge 
of the thing. By them our attention is generally 
directed only to some striking feature of the change, 
such as the cessation of some of the remarkable 
functions of life, as of voluntary motion, breathing, 
circulation, sensation, and the consequent effects 

m2 



138 



of extinct vitality, dissolution, or putrescence and to 
nothing more. These, indeed are striking changes! 
Who has not witnessed them with sad and melan- 
choly interest? As we stand by the couch of the 
dying one, even when he passes through the valley 
of the shadow of death without any very painful 
accompaniments, how impressive the changes 
that are successively observed ! Behold the 
sharpening of the shrunk and pale countenance, 
the clay-coldness of the hand, the laborious or 
interrupted respiration, the throbbing is scarcely 
perceptible in the great channels of life, the ear 
distinguishes no soothing accent, the filmy eye 
receives no impression ; and, in the last moment, 
the tremulous quivering of the lips, the drawing 
up of the feet, the final heave of the bosom, 
after which all is rest and stillness; and that 
form lately so fair and vigorous has become a 
cold and motionless ruin, on which death feeds, 
whose beauty shall consume in the grave from 
its dwelling. And is this death ? Yes. And is 
it all ? No, — not all. 

Yet we can see no more : nothing farther strikes 
our sense in regard to the departed one. We 
perceive that a change has taken place which 
has removed him from our fellowship. The spirit 
with which we held intercourse, is gone whither 
no sense can follow it; and when, after the lapse 
of a day or two, we enter the chamber where 
the lifeless body is laid out, we are admonished 
by every sense, th^t it is no longer fit for a place 



139 



there ; we touch it with reluctance, death feeds 
upon it—we feel that it must be borne away to 
the grave, the dust to return to the dust whence 
it was taken. 

There have been a few men — not many — a few 
scattered here and there, over the surface of suc- 
cessive generations, who have entertained the 
opinion that death really is, what it seems to be, 
the utter extinction of man ; that thought and 
feeling and consciousness perish with the material 
form with which they were connected ; and that 
the desire of immortality to which the human 
being clings so fondly,isonly a peculiar manifesta- 
tion of the love of life — a mere instinct of the 
living being, cherished in opposition to every 
demonstration of the negative, presented in the 
coffin and the sepulchre of every one on whom 
death feeds. ^ 

It must be confessed that, had we nothing more 
than the eye to guide us, we might be constrained, 
however reluctantly, to the conclusion, that death 
is the entire destruction of man ; that, in reference 
to the consciousness and identity of the individual 
it is utter and complete annihilation ; that " like 
sheep we are laid in the grave," there to be dis- 
solved, and to mingle again with the elementary 
atoms of the universe, forever undistinguished 
and forgotten. But such a sentiment is dark, 
gloomy, very repugnant to the human heart. It 
has never prevailed widely among men. In 
proportion as men become enlightened, the desire 



140 



of immortality grows, until it is strengthened 
into a settled conviction that the soul cannot 
perish, — that the dissolution of the body cannot 
affect its essence — that death cannot feed upon it, 
-^and that none of its beauties shall ever consume 
away in the grave. This natural sentiment derives 
support from a variety of considerations, which 
ought frequently to be reviewed, that our belief 
of immortality may become habitual, purifying 
and joyous. Permit me to suggest some of these. 

With a few exceptions, the belief that the soul 
cannot die, has universally prevailed, arising, it 
is probable, not merely from the instinctive love 
of life, — a principle native to the constitution of 
man, but from some primitive divine revelation 
vouchsafed to him of his immortal destiny. 
Accordingly, though the hope of continued 
existence has varied with the knowledge and 
characters of nations and families, yet its univer- 
sal prevalence is proof that it is founded in 
nature. The differences, indeed, are not about 
the substance of the thing, but the form : not 
about the fact of the soul's immortality, but about 
the place and manner in which it shall be enjoyed. 
The Greek and Roman fiction of Elysium and 
Tartarus; the captive African's hope of return after 
death to the land of his kindred ; the practice 
followed by some of the aboriginal tribes in the. 
Southern division of this continent, of sacrificing 
upon the death of their kings, multitudes of their 
subjects to form their retinue in another world ; 



141 



the custom which, to this day, prevails among 
some tribes of the North American Indians, of 
burying the instruments of hunting and other 
necessary utensils with the dead body ; the custom 
of the tribes on the banks of the Niger of 
sacrificing whole hecatombs of human beings on 
the grave of a person of distinction, clearly de- 
monstrate the hope and belief, that death does not 
feed upon the soul, that it shall continue to live 
and feel and act after its separation from the body. 

This natural sentiment is confirmed by the 
strong presumption, — a presumption sustained by 
the clearest demonstrations of science, that the 
soul is a being or substance distinct from the body, 
although in the present state joined with it in the 
closest union. In every language they are designa- 
ted by different names, as if they constituted 
distinct parts of the same compound being, each 
possessed of its own properties and subject to its 
own laws. Body or matter is that which resists 
compression and is divisable : mind or spirit, is 
that which feels, remembers, compares, desires, 
qualities essentially different from the preceding. 
When we think or feel, judge or remember, we 
never attribute these states to the body, but to the 
mind. In like manner, fear, hope, grief, joy, and 
such like emotions, are never referred to the 
material part, but to the sentient and thinking 
principle, resident within the body but distinct 
from it. We know that this thinking and sentient 
principle — the soul, is somehow dependent on the 



142 



brain ; for, when this organ is injured or diseased, 
the capacities of reason and sensibility are also 
perverted or destroyed. But though there is this 
connexion and dependence, it may be proved, 
that the material organ is not that which thinks 
and feels. It is a large mass, consisting of 
various parts, of which some may be removed 
without impairing or destroying the power of 
thought or sensibility, and the whole is every 
day undergoing change, and perhaps within 
the period of a few years is entirely changed, 
without at all affecting the thinking principle. 
Let it be conjectured that there is some one little 
point or organ in the brain, the soundness of 
which is essential to thought and feeling 
and personal identity, shall we say that this 
little point is the mind, not merely the central 
residence, but itself the originator of thought 
and feeling ? Let it be conjectured that mind 
is a product of the brain, and that thought 
and feeling are manifestations of the brain 
in action, as heat and light are of fire, then have 
we a little bit of matter, a little portion of pulpy 
substance capable of the sublimest discoveries in 
science and the purest emotions of religion, of the 
loftiest flights of genius, and the noblest efforts 
that have ever distinguished man! And taking 
up this small portion of matter, you may say of it — 
this is Plato or Socrates, Newton or St. Paul — 
or whoever it may chance to be. But this portion 
of the brain, supposed to be the centre of mind, 



143 



the originator of thought and feeling, — may also 
be supposed to be divided, that is, the soul may 
be divided, with all its thoughts and recollec- 
tions, and thus death feeding upon it, might 
separate its material atoms, and what would 
then become of the specific properties with 
which, as a whole, it was endued? Would 
these specific properties remain in each atom 
apart? Then the effect of death would be to 
resolve one individual thinking substance into a 
number of individual thinking substances ; and 
the various remembrances, habits, and feelings, 
which formerly belonged to one being, would then 
be divided among several. But, on the other hand, 
if the specific properties of thought and feeling 
do not reside in each particle, but in the united 
whole of this supposed centre, then there must 
be a quality superadded to this whole, — namely 
the power of thought and feeling. Now it is this 
superadded quality,whether its essence be material 
or immaterial, which we call soul or mind^ — and 
the question is, whether death feeds on this pro- 
perty or being, — and destroys it. 

Consider for a moment, then, the effect which 
death produces on the body, and it will serve to 
illustrate the effect which it cannot produce on 
such a substance or being as the mind. Death 
separates the component parts of a body, but 
does not destroy one of them, or change its 
essential properties. When a body undergoes 
putrefaction in the grave or elsewhere, it is 



144 



resolved into its original elements ; but it is no 
more conceivable that one of these should perish, 
than that the sun should perish from the firma- 
ment without the command of the Creator. 
Though, therefore, the body perishes, yet every 
atom survives, retaini ng all its essential properties. 
What reason, then, can be given, why the ultimate 
indivisible being called the soul, should perish 
with the dissolution of the body, or loose any of 
its essential properties ? It may survive in a differ- 
ent mode, it may be removed into a different 
place in the universe ; but how absurd to imagine 
that so noble a creature, formed in the similitude 
of the Deity, should perish, or lose any of its 
intellectual characteristics, when not a single atom 
of its material envelope has perished, or lost any 
of its physical characteristics ! 

The mind can make 
Substance, and people planets of its own 
"With beings brighter than have been, and give 
A breath to forms v^-hich can outlive all flesh. 

Is it then mortal — a mere material machine 
that shall be broken in pieces and dissolved? 
The supposition is in the highest degree impro- 
bable. Death cannot even feed upon the spiritual 
and indivisable mind, — far less reduce it to 

NOTHING. 2 

These views deduced from the known pro- 
perties of mind and matter, clear and satisfactory, 
as we deem them to be, are entirely consistent 
with the uniform declarations of inspired truth 



145 



which everywhere indicate that the soul of man 
is distinct from the body and is altogether of a 
different nature. This is intimated in the lan- 
guage in which the creation of man is recorded — 
" let us make man in our image, after our like- 
ness" — that is, with a spiritual, intelligent, and 
immortal nature like the Deity. Into his body 
God by special creation breathed a living soul, 
(differing in its essence, from those animal souls, 
which by the creative energy, result from the pe- 
culiar organizations to which they belong) — a 
spiritual being, endued with the higher powers 
of reason and the capacities of moral feeling. 
Had nothing more been intended by the inspired 
historian of the creation, than that the Creator 
formed man out of finer clay, with a more perfect 
structure, with a larger and more delicate brain, 
from which might result nicer perceptions, and a 
widercompass of thought, he surely would not have 
employed expressions which plainly lead us to con- 
ceive, that to the bodily frame of man, the Creator 
superadded an emanation from his own essence, 
— a breath of the divine life, — a distinct, spiritual, 
immortal principle, impressed with some of the 
communicable attributes of the divine nature. 
Nor is this view without ample confirmation in 
the whole tenor of holy Scripture.* Numerous 
authorities might easily be adduced to de- 
monstrate the separate and indestructable na- 

* Gen. i. 26-27 ; Mat. xxii. 32 ; Luke xvi. 19 ; Luke xxiii. 48 ; 
Acta vii. 60 ; Rom. xiy. 8 ; 2nd Cor. xii. 4 ; Rev. vi. 9. 

N 



14^ 



tore of the human spirit ; and that though dust 
returns to dust whence it came, the spirit re- 
turns unto God that gave it. Death does not 
feed upon it. 

These considerations may assist us in the set- 
tlement of a question closely connected with that 
solemn transition we are now contemplating. 
Whether the soul, when it has escaped from the 
body, survives in a state of unimpaired conscious- 
ness, with intellectual and spiritual energies en- 
tire and active, or whether it continues until the 
morning of the resurrection, that is, during the 
whole period of its separate or disembodied ex- 
istence, in a state of sleep and inactivity, with 
all its powers dormant for the want of those 
bodily organs which, in the present mode of its 
being, are necessary to their operation ? The 
state of the dead is frequently spoken of as a land 
of darkness and absolute rest, — as a sleep — and 
by other images which convey the impression 
dreamy if not unconscious existence. But 
these images are evidently borrowed from what 
strikes the eye concerning the body, not from 
what reason and faith apprehend concerning the 
soul. — The body indeed sleeps and is at rest. 
In some sequestered spot far from the noise and 
turbulence of the living world, it is laid to 
moulder in peace ; and few tread the lonely path, 
save when on the hallowed morning of the Sab- 
bath, the pious villagers pass over it in musing 
silence to the house of prayer, in Which the ten- 



147 



ants of the surrounding graves formerly worship- 
ped. And hence poetry has usually associated 
with mortality absolute repose and melancholy 
loneliness — the knell, the shroud, the deep damp 
vault, the darkness and the worm. But these 
things have no relation to the disembodied spirit. 
It dwells not among them. Even on the supposition 
of its dwelling in a land of forgetfulness, that land 
cannot be the place of skulls and sepulchres. The 
soul returns to that eternal source and fountain 
of which it is an emanation. Its etherial es- 
sence has nought to do with clods and coffins, with 
darkness and inactivity. And since from its 
essential nature the soul must exist, though the 
body be consumed in the grave, what should 
hinder it from exerting all the powers which it 
formerly exerted, and with which it is naturally 
endowed ? Why should its consciousness or its 
memory sleep ? Why should it cease to reason, 
or be moved with the desires and passions of an 
intelligent being ? If death does not feed upon 
its spiritual and indivisible essence, why should 
that essence lose aught of its former properties 
of thought, feeling, and activity ? Is it not more 
consentaneous to known and revealed analogies, 
that the disembodied spirit may rather possess 
larger powers than it possessed while encum- 
bered with matter and mortality ? It is 
our experience, now, that as we become 
spiritualized and abstracted from the body, our 
mental vision grows clearer and more penetrat- 



148 



ing ; and we know that angelic beings, who are 
not habited in gross material forms, enjoy a 
higher and more palmy condition of spiritual and 
intellectual existence than is attainable by man 
on earth. Why then, may not the disembodied 
soul be rather a gainer than a loser by the tran- 
sition of death ? Why may not its entrance on 
the world of spirits be an entrance on a state 
more exalted far than it hath entered into the 
heart to conceive, — a state of wider observation 
of created things, — a state of nobler employ- 
ments and purer companionships, — a state in 
which the Father of lights will be contemplated 
with a more unclouded vision and with intenser 
regards ? 

These views are in perfect accordance with the 
representations given in holy scripture, respecting 
the consequences of death to good men. For them 
" to die is gain." Could this with propriety be 
said, if the period between death and the resur- 
rection were passed in a state of insensibility ? 
Had this been the case, Paul would never have 
said, 3 " I have a desire to depart and to be with 
Christ, which is far better" — for it was not bet- 
ter to slumber in Hades, than to endure and labor 
for the evangelization of the world. Had the 
Apostle viewed death as a state of absolute re- 
pose and insensibility, he would rather have 
said, let me toil on for my master a little longer ; 
let me enjoy with him a little longer on earth, 
the fellowship of a living worshipper ; let me 



149 



snatch from the long night of the grave as many 
years as may be for the benevolent and happy 
activities of the christian life and the apostolic 
vocation. But such were not his desires, for 
such were not his views of the state of the dead. 
To die was to be with Christ ; to be absent 
from the body was to be present with the Lord. 
When time closed, eternity was to open upon his 
disembodied soul, in all the vigor of spiritual ex- 
istence, and in all the glory and beatitude of the 
heavenly world. In its passage through the dark 
valley, in its shaking off the incumbrance of mor- 
tality, it may for a moment be disturbed, — ^for a 
moment its faculties may be deranged or 
eclipsed, but once freed, it returns with all the 
entireness of its spiritual and intellectual nature, 
into the bosom of a merciful Creator. 

And oh, how vast the change, how vastly great 
To mingle interests, converse, amities, 
With all the sons of Reason, scattered wide 
Through habitable space, wherever born, 
Howe're endowed ! To live free citizens 
Of universal nature ! To lay hold 
By more than feeble faith on the Supreme. 
To call Heaven's rich unfathomable mines 
Our own ! to rise in science as in bliss, 
Initiate in the secret of the skies ! 
What exquisite vicissitude of fate ! 
Blessed absolution of our blackest hour ! 

Let these reflections encourage and console us 
in the prospect of an event which must happen to 
us all at no very distant period, and which the wise 
will always look forward to with deep solicitude. 
To the enlightened christian, strong in the faith, 
n2 



150 



death has nothing in it terrific. On the contrary, 
it leads to much that is desirable, and which 
would become more desirable, were we more 
conversant with unseen realities. Our affections 
are entangled with time and the world because 
our faith rests too little on eternity and heaven, — 
like thoughtless travellers in a foreign land, who for- 
get themselves, their home and kindred, amidst idle 
shews and amusements, or even amidst the toils 
and weariness of the journey. Let us keep in 
remembrance that this world is not our perma- 
nent abode. It is only the first brief stage of our 
endless existence. Our neighbours are drop- 
ping away from it like leaves in autumn. Like 
sheep they are laid in the grave and death feeds 
on what is laid there. But we hear a voice 
from Heaven saying " Blessed are the dead 
which die in the Lord from henceforth : yea, 
saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their la- 
bours ; and their works do follow them.'* 



161 



NOTES. 

> Some indications might lead one to fear that the notion is 
gaining ground among that class who make the material organism 
of man their sole study, " that mind is the product of the brain," 
and " the brain nothing more than a galvanic battery," which, 
when the explosion is over, and its structure dissolved is nothing. 
The dark and cheerless creed of the sceptical materialist, respect- 
ing the nature and destiny of our species is thus expressed : 

The pilgrim of a day 

Spouse of the worm and brother of the clay ! 

Frail as the leaf in autumn's yellow bower, 

Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower ; 

A friendless slave, a child without a sire. 

Whose mortal life and momentary fire 

Lights to the grave his chance-created form, 

As ocean wrecks illuminate the storm ; 

And when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er 

To-night, and silence sink for evermore. 

Pleasures of Hope, 
* The soul not material. " The immortal Shakespeare was 
born in this house." I shall first go and see the little corner, his 
birth place, I said, and then the little corner, his burial place ; 
they are scarcely half a mile apart ; nor after the lapse of more 
than two centuries, does the intervening modicum of time 
between the two events, his birth and his burial, bulk much 
larger than the modicum of space that separates the respective 
scenes of them ; but how marvelously is the world filled with 
the cogitations which employed that one brain in that brief period ! 
Could it have been some four pounds of convoluted matter, 
divided into two hemispheres, that after originating these buoyant 
immortalities, projected them upon the broad current of time, 
and bade them sail onwards and downwards for ever 1 I cannot 
believe it : the sparks of a sky rocket survive the rocket itself 
but for a few seconds. I cannot believe that these thoughts of 
Shakespeare, " that wander through eternity," are the mere sparks 



152 



of an exploded rocket, the mere scintillations of a galvanic battery 
made of fibre and albumen, like that of the torpedo, and whose 
ashes would now lie in the corner of a snuff-box. 

Hugh Millarh First Impressions. 
3 In the enthanasia of Paul is implied his immortality. Paul, 
(and this is worth noticing,) in common with all the apostles, does 
not constantly assert that he is immortal. It was and is the 
indisputable fact. Every expression that they use, implies that 
that the soul is immortal. Give up this, and the new testament 
is unmeaning. Christianity is like an arch ; you cannot take out 
a stone without the whole arch falling. Take away the immor- 
tality of the soul, and the gospel is an inexplicable mystery. 
Take away the Deity of Christ, and the whole idea of the 
atonement is absurd, and the whole language of the apostles is 
that of fools and fanatics. The immortality of the soul is scarcely 
ever set forth as a dogma which the apostle proceeds to demon- 
strate ; it is never made the conclusion of a problem, the result 
of a syllogism ; it is not what he doubts ; he assumes it ; it lies at 
the root of all. A recent traveller saw a fragment of an arch 
among the ruins of Jerusalem, and by calculating on the principles 
of mathematical or architectural science, he concluded and proved 
that that arch, if complete, must have rested upon the other side. 
What we see of the soul is very much like the fragment of that 
arch. There is enough of it displayed to show that, by that soul 
of ours, the great gulph, in which rolls the dreary sea of death, 
is spanned, and that its other limb, if I may so speak, finds no 
resting place, until it touches the opposite shore, on which is the 
throne and the presence of the Most High. Happy is that soul 
that, in the consciousness of its immortality, fights the good fight, 
keeps the faith, finishes its course, and feels its safety to be in 
this, that Jesus died and rose again." 

Z)r. Cumming. 



ON GRAVES: 

IV. SERMON. 
The dead — where are they 1 



ON GRAVES^ 

IV SERMON. 
The dead — where are they ? 



Absent from the body — present -with the Lord.— 2 Cor. t. 8. 

The doctrine that the soul is an essence dis- 
tinct from the body and immortal, is found among 
all nations who have reached any high point in 
the scale of civilization ; and vestiges of it are dis- 
coverable though variously disguised, even among 
rude and savage tribes. This universality of be, 
lief, for the exceptions are scarce worth notice 
as invalidating the universal fact, must be traced 
to a common origin — either a primitive revelation, 
from the Creator to our first progenitors, of the 
immortal destiny of their race, handed down 
among them by a common tradition, or an in- 
stinctive presentiment in the soul itself. By the 
Gospel it is now fully brought to light, and es- 
tablished among the undeniable verities of the 
Christian religion. Receiving the fact, we may 
be allowed to inquire what light is shed in Holy 
Scripture on the condition of the soul after death 
and during its separation from the body, and 
what may be known of the fate reserved for it in 
the progress of its being. 



166 



Now it must be evident that unless we are 
guided by revelation in this inquiry we cannot ad- 
vance surely a single step. Plausible conjectures, 
supported by many probable analogies, might be 
adduced ; but even while disposed to assign them 
their amplest value, we still feel that they are 
little better than conjectures, too fluctuating for 
either reason or faith to repose on in regard to a 
question so momentous. With equal truth it may 
be affirmed of the soul, as of Him who formed it, 
" no man hath seen it at any time." It cannot 
be caught in the last breath that the departing 
one heaves. The anatomist has never detected 
it in the pineal gland, or in the convolutions of 
the brain, or in the subtle fluid of which that 
organ is supposed to be the centre. Nothing can 
be told of the essence of this actual, though un- 
detectible being. Whether it be wholly distinct 
from matter, or matter in some finer and more 
etherial modification ; whether it have any sub- 
stance and figure peculiar to itself, occupying 
space and capable of locality, and possessing an 
identity distinguishable by other beings of the 
same order, are points on which no very specific 
information has been conveyed to us. The 
human soul and the world of spirits is to us in 
the fullest sense invisible. No power of man 
can lift the veil which in the divine arrangements 
has been hung to intercept it from our view. We 
must await the result of our own individual ex- 
perience to know it fully. Meanwhile let us 



157 



gratefully receive those scattered rays which the 
author of our salvation has made to penetrate 
through the veil which hangs " 'twixt mortal and 
immortal things," that we may be assured of the 
existence of a world within it, and be incited to 
prepare for our transition thither. 

The grand object at which as Christians we 
ought to aim is, to bring our life into conformity 
with our creed — to walk by faith not by sight. 
To attain this must be the result of a continual 
effort, for the things of sense immediately sur- 
rounding us are apt to engross our whole atten- 
tion ; while the more important realities con- 
nected with our spiritual nature, and a world of 
which sense takes no cognizance, are continually 
driven from our remembrance ; and things un- 
seen are too often things forgotten. Our creed is, 
that we are standing continually on the margin 
of the world unseen, into which the soul passes 
immediately after death, disembodied indeed, 
but yet into a fuller and more perfect life ; — that 
the moment death dislodges the soul from the 
body it enters the world invisible, and is in com- 
pany with the departed of former generations. 
Yet though this is our acknowledged belief, we 
are conscious of a state of habitual feeling little 
in accordance with it, and that too, even when 
we are placed in circumstances where these feel- 
ings ought to be powerfully stirred, as, for in- 
stance, when we look on the dead body of a de- 
parted friend. How rarely do we attempt to fol- 



168 



low the soul into that state on which it has ei!" 
tered ! How dimly do we realize the fact that 
it is still living, and in the perfect exercise of all 
its faculties! Is not the very language which 
we are wont to employ on such occasions delu^ 
sive, — adapted rather to the appearances that 
strike the sense than to the facts embodied in 
our creed. We lift up the covering from the face 
of the corpse, all is silent and motionless— not a 
vestige of that thought and sensibility which a 
few hours ago were manifest— signs not to be 
mistaken testify that life and intelligence are 
gone, and that the thing which lies before us is 
a broken instrument on which the musician no 
longer plays — a mansion which the occupant 
hath deserted. Yet how prone are we to gaze 
on this broken instrument, this ruined house, as 
if it were all that existed of the friend we loved. 
We weep over it as if the dead were there ; and 
when we return from the burial place where we 
have laid it, the current language among the 
mourners would seem to imply that they have 
committed their friend to the grave to slumbeF 
henceforth in silence and forgetfulness. 

And although this strain of converse be at 
variance with our acknowledged creed, and if 
brought into question, would call forth many 
orthodox explanations and apologies, yet it will 
unhappily be found too accordant with our habi- 
tual feelings in reference to the dead. We feel 
as if death had effected an entire separation be- 



tween them and us — ^as if they were swept away 
into a sea which swallows up all, and in which 
it were in vain to search even for a fragment of 
the wreck. Hence they soon perish from the re- 
membrance of the living, and the faithless heart 
feels as if they were not — a breath that passeth 
away and returneth not again. This oblivious- 
ness in regard to our departed friends, is as pal- 
pably at variance with the Christian belief as it 
is inimical to our moral improvement ; and we 
should employ all suitable means to counteract 
it. 

The question, then, should often be reviewed 
as one of profoundest interest, what is the state 
of the believer's soul between death and the 
resurrection ? In what mode does it subsist, and 
in what locality ?— A presumptuous fancy may 
not intrude here. None can disclose the mystery 
except him who has the keys of Hades and death. 
Let us listen then to hear what he hath spoken 
by the Spirit unto the churches. 

And here it may be remarked, that the state of 
the dead, during the interval between death and 
the resurrection, would sometimes seem to be 
represented in scripture, as if it were a period of 
absolute unconsciousness and repose — a state in 
which the wicked cease from troubling and the 
weary are at rest. The faithful are represented 
as fallen asleep after their day of conflict and toil 
and sorrow, a sleep, as one might conclude from 
the imagery, deep and long, and not to be broken 



160 



until the trampet of the archangel shall arouse 
the sleeper. All our sensible associations too 
combine to strengthen this impression. The eye 
is closed in perpetual darkness. The most im- 
passioned lamentations do not enter the ear. The 
restless one is now at rest; the sleepless one is 
now asleep — a sleep so peculiar that something 
akin to fear comes over us as we gaze upon it. 
And this is all that we can behold of the departed 
one, now by us called dead, whose lifeless and 
deserted frame is shortly to be consigned to the 
darkness and decomposition of the grave. 

At this point a so-called philosophy may step 
in with an attempt to assure us that the uncon- 
sciousness of the slumberer is as real as it seems ; 
and it may employ a great many words that 
sound like learning to demonstrate that the mind, 
or thinking principle, is so constituted that it 
cannot act apart from the living and healthy con- 
dition of the brain ; that the exercise of all its 
faculties is dependant on this material organ ; 
that when it is diseased the mental powers, one 
and all of them, are impaired or deranged ; that 
when it dies, thought and consciousness must die 
too, not to be revived until they that sleep in the 
dust of the earth shall awake ; and, consequently, 
as they argue, the state of the dead must be a 
state of absolute repose and oblivion, " a long 
and dreamless night " preceding the everlasting 
day. 

But this view, although it might seem to receive 



161 



some countenance from the palpable phenomena 
and the metaphorical language of scripture, is 
nevertheless at variance with its entire spirit. 
Before proceeding to establish this averment, 
however, let us glance at the pretensions of phi- 
losophy in the matter. It presumes to decide, in 
the first place, that all the phenomena of mind 
are the result of corporeal organization, and, 
consequently, when the organization is broken 
up the result must cease ; or, secondly, that the 
soul though a distinct essence, is yet so depend- 
ant on corporeal organs for the exercise of its 
several faculties, that apart from these, and dur- 
ing their separation, the exercise of these faculties 
must be suspended. It matters nothing which 
of these suppositions be chosen ; the evidence of 
both alike lie beyond the legitimate province of 
philosophic enquiry, and both alike are opposed 
to the highest probabilities. It can never be de- 
monstrated, from our imperfect knowledge of 
matter, that the phenomena of thought, reason, 
sentiment, conscience, can result from any of its 
combinations. Philosophy, trying its skill on 
mind, reaches the far higher probability, that 
these phenomena are the products of a distinct 
and superadded being — the soul. So far as 
philosophy can appear in evidence, her evidence, 
making all allowance for the trumpet which often 
giveth an uncertain sound, is against the mate- 
rialist, and in favour of the doctrine that the soul 
being distinct from the body, may survive it^ 

p2 



m 



dissolution, and possessed withal of such no- 
bility of nature, is destined for a nobler exist- 
ence than the present. Again, it is a mere as- 
sumption quite incapable of valid proof, that the 
soul thus distinct in its essence, requires the aid 
of material organs to carry on its operations. All 
that can be fairly said is, that in the present 
mode of our being, body and soul are very inti- 
mately connected, and exert over each other a 
mutual and very powerful influence. But when 
philosophy presumes to assert that the soul exist- 
ing apart cannot have any consciousness of its 
own existence, and cannot exercise indepen- 
dently its own powers, it clearly asserts what it 
cannot prove, and pushes its speculations into a 
domain not opened up to it. It has not discover- 
ed what mind is, nor the manner of its connexion 
with the body, nor whether it can subsist apart, 
or how. These points seem to lie beyond the 
investigations of natural science. In regard to 
them we must listen to revelation. A little light, 
and only a little, is shed by holy scripture on 
the intermediate state or the disembodied con- 
dition of the soul — quite enough, however, to sus- 
tain the confidence of faith and to brighten the 
assurance of hope. 

We are separated in the present world, by the 
mode of our being, from all actual knowledge of 
many existences around us, both material and 
spiritual. The condition of the soul in the body, 
in reference to many other beings, is evidently 



163 



one of isolation. Our senses, by which we hold 
intercourse with the external world, are exceed- 
ingly limited in their range, and there are, 
doubtless, beings and qualities around us, of 
which these senses, even were their range greater, 
could take no cognizance. Our power of vision, 
for instance, is very limited, both in respect to 
minuteness and magnitude. We cannot see the 
atoms that dance in the sun-beams any more than 
the orbs revolving in boundless space ; the one is 
too minute for the eye to take in, the other too 
vast. The organ of sight in man is evidently 
adapted to a creature destined to occupy a very 
narrow sphere, and to take cognizance only of 
such classes of objects and qualities within that 
sphere as more immediately affect its actual 
well-being. AW other objects and qualities, in 
respect of us, lie within the world invisible, and 
our eye cannot traverse the bounding line. Every 
leaf is peopled with myriads as exquisitely formed 
as we are, though undiscoverable by our unas- 
sisted eye. From analogy also we infer that 
every star has its own tenants, though both the 
tenants and the stars alike lie beyond the little 
sphere of our isolation ; and unless reason or 
faith should somehow discover and apprehend 
them, they will be to us as non-existing things. 
But suppose that he who created the eye, were 
pleased to enlarge its microscopic capacity, up 
to, or far beyond, that range to which art, by its 
best instruments can extend it, then a new 



164 



world of animated existence in the descending 
scale would be exposed to our contemplation — 
creatures, indefinitely minute and of unimaginable 
forms, would be seen in the air, in the water, in 
the forest, all teeming with diversified and joyous 
life : or suppose, on the other hand, that our power 
of telescopic vision were so enlarged, as to take 
in the distant and the vast ; that it could penetrate 
" the solar path and milky way that distant 
planetary abodes, with all their variety of hill and 
dale, were brought as distinctly within our view as 
the nearest one of our own terrestrial landscapes, 
so that even their inhabitants were visible, — 
their forms, their employments, their moral cha- 
racters, their social intercourse ; and farther, that 
through the eye we could hold with them an 
intellectual and religious fellowship, then by 
such a change in the capacity and function of a 
single organ, the sphere of our existence would 
be vastly enlarged, intercourse with regions of 
creation now invisible would be opened up to us ; 
and that which is now virtually absent, because 
we have no capacity for holding communication 
with it, would then be brought within the reach 
of our actual observation and social fellowship. 

The supposition now made, embraces only 
material and visible objects, and the external eye 
that sees them ; but it may be extended farther 
to spiritual existences. Let it be granted that 
the atmosphere which surrounds our world is 
occasionally filled with spiritual creatures, as the 



165 



mountain of Samaria was to the illumined eye 
of the prophet, or the sky over the plains of 
Bethlehem, on the night of the Saviour's advent. 
In the present mode of our being we have no 
faculty for discerning the presence of such 
spiritual and angelic creatures. They are 
separated from us, and we from them, by 
boundaries that we cannot pass. There are no 
avenues known to us by which they might come 
into contact and converse with our embodied 
minds. They may be hovering all around, and 
we, as entirely unconscious of the fact as we are 
of the living atoms too minute for our vision, or the 
revolving orbs that are too distant. Having no 
capacity to discern them, they are to us, though 
actually present as non-existing things. But 
were the Creator pleased to remove the law of 
isolation which now separates us from them; 
were we endued with a faculty which might 
render us cognizant of their presence, (as in the 
case of the prophet and the prophet's servant 
on Mount Dothan) by which their intelligence 
might come into contact with ours, — their thought 
and feeling responding to our thought and feeling, 
then, without any other change in us, save the 
implantation of this new faculty, communication 
with the spiritual world would be opened up to 
us ; our acquaintanceship would be extended to 
a new order of existence ; we should then be 
able personally to greet angelic messengers, and 
converse with the disembodied souls who might 



come within our sphere. Such a supposition 
does hot appear to involve anything incredible. 
It is not improbable that man, in his condition 
of innocence was endued with such a faculty ; 
and that sin which impaired the intellect 
and brought grossness upon sense, cut off 
entirely man's communication with the invisible 
world ; so that whatever communication any of 
its orders may still have with us, we have, in ordi- 
nary cases, none with them. 

These illustrations may aid us in conceiving 
the nature of that change which death may pro- 
duce in the state and mode of our being, and in 
virtue of which the soul, when absent from the 
body, shall be present with the Lord. The mode 
of the souls communication with external nature 
will be changed. The corporeal organs of sense 
and thought will be abandoned, and the soul will 
go forth free. But what should hinder that its 
mode of apprehending even physical qualities, 
may, in its separation from limited and imperfect 
organs, become more enlarged and perfect ? What 
should hinder its entire nature from becoming per- 
cipient — all eye, all ear, all touch — so that it shall 
come more closely even than now into contact 
with the qualities of matter, and range over the 
widest spaces with more than the speed of light- 
ening ? But revelation speaks little on this point, 
and leads us rather to the effects of the change 
on the disembodied soul in relation to the world 
of mind, and the other orders of spiritual existence. 



167 



Let us, therefore, inquire, what light holy scripture 
reflects upon this subject, and how it may illus- 
trate the phrase, " present with the Lord." 

The souls of believers, between death and the 
resurrection, dwell in the immediate and visible 
presence of their glorified Redeemer. When 
the work of redemption was finished on earth, 
Christ ascended into heaven, clothed with the 
human form which he had assumed, and in which 
he suflfered. No fact in the Bible is more clearly 
attested than this. It has never been denied by 
any bearing the Christian name. Every creed 
declares that our Mediator ascended into heaven, 
there to appear in the presence of God for us. 
Nor should it constitute any difficulty whatever, 
either to faith or reason, that we know nothing of 
the locality of that world into which Christ has 
entered, or of the mode of existence there enjoyed ; 
that we cannot tell the space that must be 
traversed ere the soul reaches it, or to what 
planetary system it belongs. To us it is literally 
a world invisible and unknown. It is pre^ 
sented to us in the colours of terrestrial imag- 
ery, and in the style of negation ; and we are not 
always able to distinguish, in the brief delinea- 
tion, what belongs to to the believer during his 
disembodied condition, and the happiness to 
which he shall be raised after the resurrection, 
when the purchased redemption shall be com- 
plete. 

But it may be stated that the soul, when absent 



168 



from the body, needs no bodily sense to enjoy the 
presence of Christ and the vision of the divine 
glory. Mind alone can apprehend the glories of 
the Eternal mind : and even should this glory be 
manifested to the celestial orders under some 
visible symbol — some shekinah of which that in 
the earthly temple was a type, yet the highest 
glory of the Infinite cannot be represented by it. 
Hence it is said of the heavenly state — " the 
Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the tem- 
ple of it " — " the glory of God doth lighten it, 
and the Lamb is the light thereof." Our Redeem- 
er's ascension into heaven, and all the repre- 
sentations given of it, are evidently designed to 
humanize our ideas of these blessed regions. 
Every glimpse of them vouchsafed to us conveys 
the impression that the heaven to which glorified 
saints shall be raised will differ from earth in 
degree rather than in kind. Humanity will be 
sanctified, spiritualized, glorified, but will still 
retain its essential characteristics. It will not 
take upon itself the nature of angels. There 
will be not only the human nature though refined 
and exalted, but the human form also though 
divested of such peculiarities as were adapted 
only to the incipient stage of its being. The 
earthly shall then, in all the perfections of its 
proper nature, bear the image of the heavenly ; 
but this will only be a perfect restoration of its 
divine original, for in the birthday of his existence 
man was created in the similitude of God. 



160 



The change, therefore, which divine grace 
produces on the soul of the believer is the fitting 
preparation for that which is destined to take 
place on the mode of his being, when he is absent 
from the body and present with the Lord. It 
is described as being born of the spirit — trans- 
formed into the image of God — made partaker 
of a divine nature — as having the Spirit of Christ 
dwelling in it. In the immediate presence of 
Christ, the spirits of the just made perfect, enjoy 
a perfect illumination and a perfect sanctity. 
Present with the Lord, they see him as he is and 
are made like to him. 

For the enjoyment of this precursory beatitude 
between death and the resurrection, in the 
presence of Christ, the souls of believers must 
exist in the full exercise of of all their faculties, 
in this world we are separated from that 
presence not so much by the veil of mortality 
as by the veil of sin. The embodied soul is 
as much in the essential presence of Christ 
as the disembodied ; and were our moral nature 
in a right state, unclouded by sin, and endued 
with clear spiritual discernment, Christ would 
be to our ever-living consciousness, Immanuel-^ 
God with us. The removal of the veil of mi- 
belief — the quickened energy of the spiritual life, 
restores the soul to habitual fellowship with 
the Great Invisible, and even amidst earthly 
scenes, the believer in the exercise of a living 
faith " walks with God.'» 



170 



And if, amidst all the imperfections of earth, 
such a fellowship be attainable by the spiritual 
mind, how much more perfect must it be, in the 
immediate presence of our glorified Redeemer. 
Admitting that every faculty of the disembodied 
soul will there be in a state of activity, we need 
not perplex ourselves by speculating on the mode 
of its perceptions while denuded of those bodily 
organs by which we are here connected with the 
material world. There may be other and supe- 
rior modes of communication than by the organs 
of sense, of which the activity of the mind in 
dreams, and under the influence of powerful ex- 
citants, may afford us some idea. What should 
hinder the qualities both of mind and matter from 
impressing mind directly without any interven- 
tion of nerve or brain ? Why, in the presence of 
the Father of lights, may not all knowledge be 
intuitive, according to the capacity of the reci- 
pient, and the intenser and more perfect action 
of his powers? Why, may not all the stores of 
memory, in the more perfect freedom and perfec- 
tion of the mind, lie continually exposed to the 
mental eye ? If in hell, the judgments of an up- 
braiding conscience be a worm that never dies, 
why in heaven may not all the apprehensions of 
moral excellence, whether of the Eternal God- 
head or of the several orders of moral beings, be 
immediate, comprehensive, bright — the light and 
. glory and felicity enjoyed before the throne of 
God ? If a single ray of this beatific light, reach- 



171 



ing the soul in its corporeal prison-house, exalts 
and gladdens it, what shall be the ecstacy of its 
bliss, when it enters upon the inheritance of the 
saints in light ? The spirits of the just, present 
with the Lord, behold him with unveiled face. 
All things are seeu in him and he in all. Sur- 
rounding myriads do not distract from the indi- 
vidual the Saviour's regard. He has perfect 
knowledge of each, immediate intercourse with 
each, divine affection for each. And reciprocally 
their enlarged faculties are in him satisfied with 
enlarged — with infinite objects. When present 
with the Lord they shall behold the infinite glory 
of his attributes. The love that died for the world, 
and the mercy that redeemed it ; the cross on 
which redemption was purchased, and the tro- 
phies with which it is crowned, shall be the 
themes of their converse and adoration. Then 
shall the declaration respecting our present poor 
conceptions of the glories of the invisible world 
be verified — " eye hath not seen, neither hath 
ear heard ; nor hath it entered into the heart of 
man to conceive what God hath laid up for them 
that love him." 

Present with the Lord — the attainments and 
past history of every individual will be perfectly 
known and graciously rewarded. Known to 
Christ they will be, and perhaps to the whole 
general assembly and church of the first born. 
An intimate mutual knowledge seems to be one 
of the peculiarities of the spiritual world — " they 



172 



shall know even as they are known." Does it 
mean that the past history, and the interior moral 
nature of each shall be there transparent and 
visible, — the impure purged away and the sanc- 
tified alone remaining ? One cannot help imagin- 
ing that some portion of the felicity of the 
ransomed will arise out of their fellowship with 
each other, because that fellowship is itself a 
reflection of the glory of Christ. It shall be 
reflected in Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the 
patriarchs of a former dispensation ; in the mar- 
tyrs and confessors, who, amidst bonds, imprison- 
ment, and death, held fast the profession of their 
faith without wavering ; in the multitudes, who, 
though unknown to the world, illumined their own 
little sphere with all the graces of the Christian 
character ; in the multitudes who died in infancy, 
leaving earth ere they had felt its curse, were 
borne to paradise ere they had learned its name. 
All shall occupy their own sphere, for heaven is 
a place of righteous gradation, each perfectly 
blessed in the full enjoyment of God, and devoted 
to the employments for which the intermediate 
state is designed. They serve God day and 
night in his temple ; and as faculties in exercise 
are faculties in progress, time as it rolls on to its 
consummation will be maturing their perfections 
and augmenting their felicity. 

One word may here be allowed on the subject 
of personal recognition in the disembodied 
state. The general promise given to tiie faithful 



173 



departed, would seem to imply an intuitive per- 
sonal recognition : they shall come from the 
east and from the west, from the north and 
from the south, and shall sit down with Abraham 
and Isaac and Jacob in the Kingdom of God. 
The rich man in the parable is represented as 
knowing Lazarus, though afar off, in Abraham's 
bosom. The disciples on the mount of trans- 
figuration, admitted, as would seem, for a mo- 
ment within the veil of spirituality, knew Moses 
and Elias. The apparent necessity of social 
intercourse to the happiness of the redeemed 
would seem to require a personal recognition 
and recollection of the past. To remove some 
difficulties that may embarrass our conceptions 
of such an intercourse, among the spirits of 
the just, it may be suggested that even in 
the present world, our knowledge and recol- 
lections of an individual, are not always, nor 
ever perhaps mainly, associated with his visible 
peculiarities. Our friends are known and remem- 
bered, not so much by their size or their 
complexion, or their lineaments, as by other 
qualities of which external senses take no cog- 
nizance. Friendship and the qualities which 
cement it ; love and all the amiabilities that 
warm it into life ; moral excellence with the 
admiration it excites; mental power and the 
higher endowments that constitute talent or genius 
— these are truly invisible qualities, not seen by 
the outward eye, felt only by the mind. And what 

p2 



m 

should hinder the thinking and truly percipient 
being, when delivered from the burden of the 
fiesh, from obtaining a perfect and more direct 
knowledge of qualities akin to its own nature ? 
If the soul in its disembodied state be possessed 
of perception, of memory, of conscience, of moral 
feeling, we need not, we ought not, to damp the 
pleasure with which the belief of personal recog- 
nition inspires us, by starting inexplicable 
mysteries connected with the mode of its mani- 
festation. The Creator who formed these bodies 
to be our instruments of communication with 
the material world, and with each other, in our 
present condition of existence, has no doubt 
endued the soul v.'ixh faculties that shall 
qualify it for its proper activities and intercourse 
when it shall be united to the just made perfect 
in that intermediate state which shall precede the 
resurrection. 

The conclusion to which we are led by this 
course of illustration, is that the death of the 
body and separation of the soul creates no pause 
in the progress of our conscious existence ; 
that after the temporay eclipse and confusion in 
its dislodge me nt, it quickly accommodates itself 
to its new mode of existence, and all its powers 
expand into freer and more energetic operation ; 
that in the case of the believer a meetness for his 
destiny arises from the sanctified exercise of his 
powers in those hallowed employments in which 
on earth He delighted. The knowledge of divine 



175 



things which here he acquired, is not lost, but 
freshened and extended there ; the emotions and 
habits of piety, no more impeded by the flesh, 
are quickened into a more perfect life in the 
heavenly vision ; the course of benevolent activity 
which He followed on earth, written in the book 
of God, is written also on the tablet of His own 
memory, and the review of it enhances His joy. 
Absent from the body He is present with the 
Lord ; and the truth so touchingly revealed on 
the cross to the penitent malefactor, is verified to 
Him in the very hour of his release — " this day 
shall thou be with me in paradise." 

Since, then, your whole career on earth is pre- 
paratory to your entrance upon that world where 
you shall be present with the Lord, let this your 
final destination be your chief care. Let all 
things else be subordinate to it. Study to live 
and feel now as you shall live and feel then ; 
and bring the life on earth, in all its moral charac- 
teristics, as near as possible to the life in heaven. 
When faith is in lively exercise, your condition 
here will be felt to have many points of resem- 
blance to your condition hereafter. You contem- 
plate the same objects though differently seen ; 
you pursue the course appointed by God, though 
in an earthly sphere ; your aims and pursuits in 
their effects upon the character, do not die ; your 
Judge remembers them all and they will form 
part of your own imperishable recollections. 
Watch, therefore, with prayerful solicitude over 



176 



these buddings of immortality. Sow the seeds, 
and nourish the plants that shall bloom forever 
in the heavenly paradise. Time will then be 
encircled with the halo of eternity ; and the life 
you live in the flesh will be a life of faith in the 
Son of God. 

Meditate often on the nearness of the invisible 
world, that it may abide in your remembrance. In 
a moment you may be within it. The soul is 
easily dislodged from its present tabernajcle : 
one rude shock to the tenement and the tenant quits 
it to mingle with the departed. Wherever their 
locality be, it needs only the flight of an instant 
to reach it. Invisible it is to sense — but how 
limited the range of sense ! The circumference 
of a few miles bounds it. Who would be con- 
tented with so narrow a sphere, save the grossest 
and most unreflecting of our species. In our 
better moments we all aspire beyond it. The 
land of our birth, now distant from our sight, 
lives in our remembrance. Imagination, working 
upon the narratives of travellers, pictures the land- 
scapes of countries we have never visited. 
Active fancy, which " travels beyond sense and 
pictures things unseen," rises beyond the actual 
into the ideal, and enlarges the sphere of our 
enjoyment. But why stop here? Why, not 
enter upon the regions opened up to faith — 
regions in which we are destined to perpetuate 
our existence, and to reach our highest perfection 
and felicity! Were our faith vigorous and 



177 



enlightened, it would not be possible long to 
forget them. The pilgrim to the Jerusalem which 
is above, would then be ever straining his eye 
through the dull, cloudy atmosphere around him to 
catch a ray of its glory-bright battlements ; and 
keeping it in faithful remembrance he would 
live under the powers of the world to come. 

Forget not the dead, who die in the Lord. 
You are not forgotten by them. Death does not 
obliterate the recollections of the past. Death 
does not extinguish in the soul one kind or holy 
affection that ever warmed it. The tender, the 
lovely, the beneficent, are not stripped of their 
spiritual ornaments when they leave mortality 
behind them. Even among the lost some humau 
sympathies survive. The rich man in hell did 
not forget that he had five brethren, for whom he 
felt the anxious desire that they should not come 
to the same place of torment. And there is 
nothing improbable in the conjecture that multi- 
tudes who have themselves rejected the gospel 
offer — a rejection which constitutes the chief ele- 
ment of their remorse and wretchedness, may 
nevertheless continue to wish that their surviving 
kindred shall be directed to a happier choice. 
But, however this be with the lost in whom 
there must exist a tendency to aggravated depra- 
vity, we may be assured that this benevolent 
sympathy continues to prevail in the bosom of 
the redeemed ; that, as to the angels, so to them 
the repentance of a sinner is matter of joyful in- 



176 



terest ; and that in particular, those whose reli- 
gious well-being was an object of their solicitude 
and prayer on earth, may still in heaven awaken 
their tenderest sympathies. Oh, why should we 
repel the sentiment that the spirits of the just 
made perfect, may still bend a compassionate re- 
gard from their high mansions of security and 
rest upon those whom they have left behind 
amidst the perils of the warfare ; that, though 
earthly relationships be dissolved, the holy- and 
tender affections which grew out of them, may 
not have perished ; and, that though the perfect 
bliss of paradise cannot be impaired with sorrow 
and disappointment, on account of a kindred 
neglecting their eternal interests, this bliss may 
be augmented by beholding their growing piety 
and their useful lives, and by stretching forth to 
them the hand of welcome, when " the warfare's 
o'er, the combat's won." Suffer not the dead to pass 
away from your memory. The cherished recol- 
lection may incite you to prepare for that world 
on which they have entered. 

Forget not the dead, — you shall soon meet 
them again. That tide which carried them 
towards invisible shores is bearing you onward 
and the next rising surge may cast you within 
the veil. The frequent contemplation of this 
fact in your coming destiny is the dictate of 
wisdom. The law of mortality had its origin in 
a curse, and the devastation of death is its uni- 
versal monument. But there is no sepulchre for 



179 



the soul. It cannot be covered with a shroud ; 
it makes not its bed with the worm. Originally 
a breath from God, it has no affinity with the 
dust of the ground ; and when dust is committed 
to dust, it returns unto God who gave it. The 
practical and sanctifying remembrance of this 
fact is one of the characteristics of the life of 
faith. It connects eternity with time, and 
exclaims in the spirit of holy obedience and 
peaceful resignation, " Whether we live, we live 
unto the Lord ; and whether we die, we die unto 
the Lord ; whether we live therefore, or die, 
we are the Lord's. For to this end Christ both 
died, and rCoC, and revived, that he might be 
Lord both of the dead and living." Come and 
read the most appropriate epitaph for the 
departed saint — full of consolation to the bereaved 
and the best memorial of those who have finished 
their course — He walked with God, and is not, 
FOR God took him. 



ON GRAVES: 

V. SERMON. 
Is the child dead t 



ON GRAVES s 

V. SERMON. 



Is the child dead 1 And they said he is dead. I shall go to himp 
but he shall not return to me.— 2 Sain. ch. xii. v. 19—23. 

Affliction and sorrow, that come npon our 
sinful species without any distinction of rank or 
station, often enter into the palaces of kings. 
For the royal robe covers the heart of humanity, 
and though surrounded with all the splendour 
and safeguards of a throne, the keenest arrows 
of misfortune may reach and pierce it. Sin 
which put on the dispenser of crowns, a crown 
ci thorns, has planted a thorn in every earthly 
diadem, to remind its possessor of the connexion 
of sin and pain ; and that only through the suf- 
ferings of the King of Zion we can cherish the 
hope of deliverance. 

The scene presented in the history from which 
the text is taken, is in the highest degree affect- 
ing. Disease had been lying heavy for seven 
days on an infant in which the strong aifections 
of fondly loving parents were bound up. Maternal 
affection watched over its cradle : while the 
father, a conscience-stricken sinner, yet humbly 
confiding in the mercy of God,— during the dark 



184 



period of suspense, fasted, prayed, and lay pros- 
trate on the ground in the agony of his spirit, 
saying, who can tell whether God may be gra- 
cious to me that the child may live ? That crisis 
had come in which the virulence of disease over- 
masters the impotence of human skill ; — the hour 
in which the anxious bystander feels that it be- 
longs to the giver of life alone to touch the waver- 
ing balance on the side of recovery ; — the hour, 
in which suppressed anguish can do nothing but 
gaze in silence, had come within the palace of 
the King of Israel — within the chamber where 
the dying infant lay. The moment also had 
come which had determined the issue. Death 
had quenched the feeble spark of infant existence. 
And when David suspecting, from the whisper- 
ings of the attendants, that the child was dead, 
said, " is the child dead ?" — And they said he is 
dead : and he said, " can I bring him back 
again? I shall go unto him; but he shall not 
return to me." 

Behold two topics in these words ; first^ that 
which causes grief in the death of friends ; and 
secondly^ the consideration by which this grief 
is soothed. 

The intercourse of friendship occasionally 
suffers temporary separations, and the pain con- 
nected with them is not strange to us. Yet, in 
such cases, the shadows that come over us at the 
moment of parting, are brightly gilded with the 
hope of an early meeting ; — and thus they be- 



185 



come even more pleasing than the serenity of 
our every day sky. As for instance, when parents 
send their child to a distance for his education : 
it is painful to part with him; but in a few 
years he will return to their embrace with an 
improved mind : — or when they send him away 
to a foreign land to push his fortune, it is painful 
to part with him ; but he will retnrn in a few 
years, so hope pictures, to his home, " loaded 
with wealth and honours bravely won — or 
when they send their child away to invigorate a 
delicate frame in a more genial climate, it is a 
painful sacrifice to endure her absence, yet in a 
few months she will come back again in health 
to be the light of their dwelling. Even our more 
casual and transient separations would have an 
element of deeper sadness in them, were it not 
that hope soothes the pain of parting, and the 
period of absence, with the promise of return. 

But with respect to the dead these prospects 
and possibilities are wholly extinguished. They 
have entered upon another sphere, — unlike the 
earthly, — how remote from it we cannot tell, — 
separated from it by an abyss which the decree 
of their destiny does not permit them to repass. 
All the visible memorials by which we were 
wont to recognize them, and to hold converse 
with them, have been left behind, — the prey of 
corruption and the grave. Despoiled of all that 
rendered them agreeable to us, life, intelligence, 
the warm and breathing soul, the complexion 

92 



186 



and the symmetry — all have vanished — nought 
remains that we can cling to — we are glad to 
hurry away to the grave-yard, the forsaken and 
ruined tenement, to sink into a dissolution still 
more complete. In the separation therefore that 
death makes nothing speaks of a return. The 
babe so fondly nurtured upon the maternal bosom, 
and cradled there in its sickness with a care that 
never wearies, comes not back to that bosom 
when the spirit has fled ; — no hope, no promises 
of a return can be feigned either by fancy in its 
extravagance, or by friendship in its tenderness, 
to mitigate the anguish of bereavement. The 
youth, springing into the grace and power of 
manhood, unfolding excellences of mind and 
character, for which a wide admiring circle pre- 
dicts a bright career, — whose amiableness com- 
municates a charm to that select society in which 
he moves — a charm all the sweeter that it is 
scented with the heavenly perfumes of piety, — 
when touched with his fatal malady, he droops, 
and sickens, and dies, — the bitterest element in 
the sorrow of the mourners is, that he shall return 
no more to the scene which his presence glad- 
dened ; — and when his remains are carried out 
by the funeral train to be consigned to the dust, 
— this is only the last of a series of melancholy 
demonstrations that the beautiful shadow is ut- 
terly dissolved, never again to be beheld on 
earth among its l?eloved and bliss-inspiring 
things. 



187 



This, then, is the chief element of our grief, 
when we mourn over the bereavement of the 
friend we love, — that the departed one is gone 
from us, and will never return. The sorrow felt 
is not so much on account of any loss he has sus- 
tained — prone as we are in moments of un- 
belief to regard death as the greatest of all evils, 
— as from the loss that we ourselves have sus- 
tained. Nay, we may even be persuaded that 
death to him has been unspeakable gain ; — gain, 
because he is delivered from the pains of a malady 
which no human skill could cure ; — gain, be- 
cause his wearisome days and nights are at an 
end ; — gain, because the immortal part hath 
risen to that more perfect condition of existence, 
in which disincumbered of mortality, all its power 
shall expand into more perfect vigour, and shall 
be consecrated to happier employments. Yet 
with the liveliest persuasion that death is gain, — 
unspeakable gain to the departed, we may still 
be filled with the most pungent anguish under 
the sense of our own bereavement. He is taken 
away from our home and fellowship. The eyes 
that met ours with the glance of a reciprocal 
kindness, will never again beam upon us. The 
voice that spoke to us in tones so tender and af- 
fectionate we shall never again hear. The dear 
object on whom we delighted to shower our 
caresses is now beyond our reach. Evening 
comes but he comes not. Morning dawns but 
he is not there. Time speeds on, — years revolve 



188 



— but still he returns not — to grieve in our grief, 
or to rejoice in our joy— to unite in our prayers, 
or to worship in our sanctuary. The blank 
created by his departure in the circle of out 
friendship remains. New comers may enter it, 
but his place is never filled. The grave hath 
hid him from our sight, the bourne o'er which 
no traveller returns, divides us, and the sad so- 
liloquy of the mourner is, — " I shall go unto him, 
but he shall not return unto me." 

Consolation, therefore, under the loss of friends, 
is to be sought by turning away from the present 
memorials of our bereavement, and fixing owt 
contemplation upon the onward prospect. And 
we can single out from it several elements fitted to 
inspire consolation. 

The world beyond the grave upon which the 
saints departed have entered, is an onward stage 
in the progress and perfection of our being. The 
children of God are all destined to it from their 
birth, — and especially from their second birth, 
when they passed from spiritual death unto spiri- 
tual life. It follows that event, by a sequence as 
determinate as that infancy should grow up to man- 
hood — as that the bud should swell out into the 
blossom — as that the dawn should usher in the day. 
This earth is the place of their sojourn, not of their 
permanent residence — the school where some at- 
tainments are to be made, some graces cultivated, 
preparatory to their transplantation into a higher 
sphere. The faithful dead have attained these 



189 



and are translated. To wish them back, how- 
ever painful our sense of loss may be, would be 
to wish a reversal of the beneficent arrangements 
of eternal goodness. Who ever wishes that the 
expanding beauty of adolescence should be again 
reduced to the helplessness of childhood ? — Who 
ever wishes that the intellect brightened into 
vigor, and the heart exalted into piety, should 
return again to infantile imbecillity? — Who, 
rising to right thought and above the infirmity of 
earthly affection, would wish to call back again, 
to be the companion of his own brief and troubled 
sojourn, that friend now united to the spirits of 
the just before the throne, — himself now become 
a spirit, pure as they, — their associate, their fellow 
worshipper, — dwelling in light, — the light of 
truth, — the light of purity, — the light of joy? 
Who would wish to recall a departed friend from 
such a glory and beatitude, seeing that to this 
high destiny, infinite mercy hath raised him, 
and hath called each of us to the^'same ? j^^Is not 
this fact rather fitted to kindle the aspiration that 
we should be permitted to go unto them ? It at- 
tracts our eye away from the desolations that 
death hath created around us, — from the bitter- 
ness of our own sorrow, — to the brighter world 
and the perfect felicity, on which the departed 
believer has entered. The wilderness may in- 
deed be around us, — the grave of a friend and 
fellow pilgrim may be at our feet, — a feeling of 
loneliness and bereavement may weigh down 



190 



the sensitive and aiFectionate heart,-— yet the faith 
that descries in the distance before us the bat- 
tlement of the heavenly Jerusalem, that beholds 
the power and glory of its King, and the bliss 
and dignity of its citizens, will not seek to re- 
vert its gaze to the melancholy scenes of time. 
It will rather be ready to exclaim, oh, that I had 
the wings of a dove, for then would I flee away 
and be at rest. I have a desire to depart and to 
be with Christ, which is far better. 

It is a sweet consolation to us, when suiFering 
under the pains of bereavement, to be assured 
that in the world to come the intercourse that 
subsisted between the good on earth shall be re- 
newed in some much more perfect and happy form. 
The King of Israel was manifestly consoled 
with this confident hope, when he said, " I shalll 
go unto him,"— the dear infant of whom I am 
bereaved ; — I shall be permitted to single him 
out from the countless myriad of little ones who 
have entered into the Kingdom of God ; to em- 
brace him in the arms of parental love, purified 
from every human alloy ;— my child, adorned 
with more than an infant's innocence, and de- 
livered from all an infant's weakness, and clothed 
with the perfect image of the heavenly, will be 
my companion in the mansion prepared for us by 
the river of life, among the trees of that paradis6 
above which the ransomed can never lose ! 

Ye bereaved and sorrowful ones, we make no 
factitious effort to soothe you with pleasurable 



191 



fancier " The prophet that hath a dream, let 
him tell a dream ; and he that hath my word, let 
him speak my word faithfully. What is the chaff 
to the wheat saith the Lord ?" — The imagina- 
tion of the poet has sported with this theme, 
and. unbelief may whisper to itself, that it is, 
without discoverable evidence, — the baseless 
fabric of a vision,— that glitters before the gazer's, 
eye when looking over into that gloomy abyss of 
mortality which has swallowed up all departed 
generations. But thanks be to God, it is not so. 
We have better foundations for our hope than the 
poet's fancy. Our hope reposes upon a rock, on 
which were the sceptic to reflect and believe 
and repose^ he would make a happy escape from 
his trackless, melancholy sea. The author of 
our being has revealed to us in his word that the 
spirit on its separation from the body returns un- 
to God that gave it j— that it returns with all the 
powers and faculties he gave it unimpaired, to 
be with him in the Kingdom of his glory and 
blessed in his vision ; carrying with it thither all 
sanctified affections and remembrances ; — the 
sweet memory of a religious home and Christian 
fellowship; — an undiminished sympathy with 
all the good left behind a submissive waiting 
for their arrival on the heavenly shore, and re- 
union with them in the spiritual world of light 
and life. Why should we imagine or fear that 
amidst the more extended companionship of- 
those blefised regions, the peculiar ties of ter- 



192 



yestrial companionships should be dissolved, 
or forgotten, or lose their charm ? — It is not so 
on earth, and heaven, doubtless, has its ana- 
logies with the arrangements of earth. When 
we go forth into the great world, and mix 
in its societies, we meet with men renowned 
for talent, patriotism, usefulness ; — with com- 
manders who have successfully directed their 
country's arms ; with statesmen, who have con- 
ducted safely their country through formid- 
able perils ; with men who have gathered 
around it the lustre of genius ; with a multitude 
of humbler men who have done well their part in 
the establishment of a pure Christianity — by far 
the best benefactors of nations ; and we give to 
each of these the sincere tribute of our homage 
and love. But, at the very moment when our 
heart glows with the most affectionate admira- 
tion for them, we return from the great world 
within our own narrow circle of domestic love 
with a more devoted regard to all its members, 
as forming to us the dearest portion of that great 
commonwealth which has so warmly excited 
our benevolence. This is human nature in its 
best degree. Benevolence most widely diffused 
is compatible with the strongest particular at- 
tachments. And why should human nature not 
be the same among the spirits of the just made 
perfect in the regions of perfect love ? Why 
should each not gather around them there, with- 
in their own mansion, those who were related by 



193 



very tender ties at the earliest commencement of 
their immortal existence, — whose mutual coun- 
sel determined the choice that made Christ 
their portion, — whose mutual intercourse contri- 
buted to form the regenerate character, — who 
fought together the fight of faith and achieved 
the victory through which the crown of life was 
obtained. Though many of the accidents of our 
earthly relationships must needs be changed in 
the world of spirits, — the affections growing out 
of them, the remembrances connected with them, 
the ties resulting from them, must needs be 
perfected, and will form elements in the recom- 
pense of the just. The heavenly fellowship will 
neither be confused nor promiscuous ; it will 
be grouped together according to predeterminate 
affinities ; it will be in the resurrection only a 
more perfect development of the earthly ; each 
individual bearing, it may be, all his character- 
istic peculiarities, though freed from all his cha- 
racteristic infirmities, — rising higher and higher 
in his own degree throughout endless duration. 
We are lost in the vastness of this conception, 
though it stands on the surest ground of analogy 
and faith ; and in the first anguish of our be- 
reavement, we seek for consolation in assurances 
nearer at hand and more in unison with our ac- 
tual experience. Faith then, in its plainer and 
more immediate revelations, thus reassures me : 
your departed friend is not lost, but gone before ; 
he survives in all the entireness of his indivi- 



194 



dual being ; his memory has forgotten nothing 
that is pure in your former friendship, or love ; 
you will meet him again without any default in 
his recognition, — without any abatement of his 
regard. Be comforted then : " you will go unto 
him though he will not return unto you." 

And these ties that connect the believer with 
the world to come are already strong. 

Not to go beyond the circle of our immediate 
kindred, — how many of these have already en- 
tered upon it. The grey-haired sires who caress- 
ed your infancy in their trembling arms, and 
stood in prayer over you at your baptism, have 
long been inhabitants of that world into which a 
few days ago they welcomed the kinsman at 
whose death-bed you wept. Of the children 
nursed at the same bosom, some were embo- 
somed in the grave before your birth, — and others 
were carried there ere you could form any other 
idea of the change, save that brother, or sister 
had gone away and had not returned. When 
we come to riper years, and to advancing age 
we miss the more. Our father's home is desert- 
ed — our parents are laid in the grave with their 
children that went before them ; the father with 
his son ; the mother with her daughter. And 
unusual must your lot be, — if you have not 
oftener than once followed to the grave some of 
the best beloved of your co-evals, struck down in 
prime, and health, and busy enterprise, and do- 
mestic joy. But all who have thus departed in 



195 



the faith to the heavenly Jerusalem strengthen 
the attractive force that draws the affections of the 
believer to things that are above. In youth and 
during the mid-time of our days we are anchored 
to the earth by many ties. But in the arrange- 
ments of heaven, strand after strand is cut, — until 
we feel the hope that is anchored within the veil 
drawing us upward with resistless power, — dis- 
posing us to say, — " to die is gain^^^ — earth is not 
to be compared to paradise, — the companions 
that remain are dear, but more and dearer far 
are the friends who are gone. Without regret, 
'therefore, nay with joy, the summons may be re- 
ceived that unites us to them. 

It is well to cherish these memorials of the de- 
parted. The Roman noble placed in the hall of 
his palace the statues of his celebrated ancestors 
to stimulate him to an imitation of their heroic 
deeds. In this we would have the Christian do 
as the patrician did, though in a manner con- 
formable to the Christian faith and a spiritual 
life. Engrave upon the tablet of your memory 
the images of your departed; on some conspicuous 
place there, let them be engraven, that your eye 
may be occasionally cast upon them in the busi- 
est moments to inspire you with that tranquility 
which they have now gained ; to moderate the 
ardour of that pursuit by which you are endanger- 
ed ; to incite you to close imitation of those who 
through faith and patience are now inheriting the 
promises ; to remind you that even the ties of 



196 



personal friendship which bind you to the world 
of spirits are stronger and dearer than those that 
would detain you here ; and to dispose you to say 
in joyful anticipation, " I shall go unto them ; 
but they shall not return unto me." 

And once more, we may remark that the ties 
that bind us to the world invisible, already 
strong, are always increasing in number and 
strength, for all around us upon whom our affec- 
tions now rest, will very shortly be summoned 
thither. 

It is the law of human existence. Time loses 
• — eternity absorbs it. Generation after genera-* 
tion disappears. The population of empires and 
cities melt away. The swarm of to-day'is not 
the swarm of yesterday. The stock is maintain- 
ed ; — the individuals perish. Look at your own 
family : it is a type of society in all its combi- 
nations. How many of your nearest kindred 
have already fallen — vanished forever from your 
home. A few years more, — for few at best are 
the days of the years of our life — and the young- 
est among them will become aged and return to 
the common garner of mortality, even as a shock 
of corn Cometh in in its season. These sires, 
already whitened unto the harvest shall be 
gathered in before long. These olive plants 
around your table, short-lived, for more than 
half our race are short-lived, — and fair too, for 
the short-lived are often fair — a few winters will 
handle them rudely, and they will steal away to 



197 



a more genial home. The men of energy and 
enterprise, who keep the great wheels of the 
social machine in motion, who come , out spring 
after spring with a force not visibly abated, as 
if they were to never be touched with that scythe 
which cuts the feebler down, — they too, when 
their hour is come, droop and wither like the 
green herb, and though longer spared, their 
dust is mingled at length with the dust of their 
forefathers. And were w^e permitted to return 
to the city of our habitation, after the lapse of 
some thirty years or so, how strikingly would old 
scenes demonstrate the course of our observations. 
The house, once ours, is filled with unknown 
occupants ; the scenes of industry on which in 
our day we plied our skill, are held by a new 
race of toilers ; we know not one of the busy 
buyers and sellers that crowd the market place ; 
the house of God where we worshipped hath 
in it none of the well-known faces whom we 
were wont to greet there. In short, we would 
feel ourselves to be strangers. A new genera- 
tion has sprung up. The old is gone, — gone to 
the world to come of which we speak, on which 
we wish you now to concentrate your affections. 
For why should you set your affections on 
earth ? — All your friends are leaving it. Why 
should you mourn excessively at their departure ? 
— Weep as though you wept not. You will soon 
follow them. 

And this is the last consideration that I would 
r2 



198 



suggest as full of consolation to the believer 
weeping at the grave of a friend that has fallen 
asleep in Jesus. 

We cannot say unto you, weep not ; there is 
a time to weep. We cannot call these throbbinga 
of emotion, a weakness — they are not inconsis* 
tent even with perfect humanity. Remember 
that its divinely tranquil and perfect type, stand- 
ing by the grave where one whom he loved lay^ 
" groaned in spirit, was troubled, and wept.^^ 
Christianity disowns the Stoic's pride ; it rejects 
the Stoic's apathy; it extinguishes no natural 
affection, but regulates, exalts, refines, enobles 
all. It shines forth like the sun upon the dark 
and billowy deep, gilding the waves in the 
tempest and bringing on the calm. It does not 
counsel the bereaved to repair to scenes of gayety 
for the oblivion of their grief ; — it says not to the 
dull selfishness of our nature, time will bring 
an antidote ; — it advises not the formation of new 
friendships as a solace for those that have beBn 
dissevered ; — it recommends no lethean cup to 
obliterate the memory of past endearments ; — ah 
no, faith teaches far purer lessons, — inspires far 
nobler sentiments. It unites time with immor- 
tality and leads the soul forward to its heavenly 
home. It assuages our sorrow for the departed, on 
the ground that we are hasting to join them. It 
stands thoughtful on the brink of Jordan, which 
the friend has crossed, waiting for the royal mes- 
senger who shall conduct the bereaved one to 



199 



the same repose ; and though for a time he may 
be oppressed with all the loneliness of a heart 
bereaved, he knows that the day of his redemp- 
tion draweth nigh. That day is borne onward 
with the speed of time. Every breath drawn 
brings the racer to the goal. Guided by truth 
up the ascent heavenward, the glory of the celes- 
tical city becomes more distinctly unfolded ; — its 
anthems fall at length upon the pilgrim's ear, its 
peace pervades the atmosphere around him, — and 
he is less sad for the ravages of death among his 
kindred in the degree that he feels himself verg- 
ing upon the region where mortality is swallow- 
ed up of life. 

Such sentiments, we think, consoled the heart 
of the pious king of Israel, as he bent in sadness 
over the lifeless body of his son, and exclaimed 
in the certain hope of an immortal life, " I shall 
go unto him but he shall not return unto me" ; — 
and such may bring consolation to you in a 
similar season of sadness and bereavement. 



DEATH: 

The fear of it a bondage. 



DEATH: 

The fear of it a bondage. 



And deliver them who through fear of death were all their life- 
time subject to bondage. — Hebrews, chap. ii. v. 15. 

Why, it may be asked, should death be an 
object of fear — of such fear as may hold a man 
in bondage all his life long — The question ad- 
mits of several answers. 

The fear of death, or, in other words, the love 
of life, is in man, a strong, instinctive, original, 
sentiment. The Creator has implanted it in the 
human bosom as the safeguard of life — a thing 
never to be touched or shortened save by his own 
hand. Hence the fact so emphatically expressed 
by an ancient patriarch — " skin for skin, yea all 
that a m^n hath will he give for his life." The 
highest honours, the richest possessions would 
willingly be sacrificed for its preservation ; and 
the perpetual gloom of a dungeon, the sadness 
of perpetual banishment, a sentence to ceaseless, 
unmitigated toil, would in most instances be 
preferred to its sudden and violent extinction. 
The dread of death operates, whenever our life 
is threatened, with all the controlling power of a 



204 



natural instinct, that is, of a sentiment planted 
in the human bosom by the finger of God. 

What melancholy and disastrous scenes would 
be daily witnessed were it not for this natural 
defence set around the citadel of life ! In spite 
of its natural strength, however, it is sometimes 
rashly thrown down. In a fit of bitter disap- 
pointment, in the phrensy of passion, the suicide 
will, with unutterable rashness, assume that 
power over his own being which belongs only to 
God. And were it not that the author of our 
being has so fenced it round by his own authority, 
how much oflener would the awful limits be 
rashly and unwarrantably passed ! The man 
weary of the world, — the man sunk under the 
pressure of some bitter adversity, — the man tor- 
tured with some painful and incurable malady, 
— the man whose advanced years have left him 
nothing to look for save increasing infirmities 
and uncheered decay — how often might such be 
induced to seek some potion to compose them 
for a long sleep, were it not for the instinctive 
dread of the mere transition, and the still more 
terrible apprehension of the condition in which 
the soul may find itself after its separation from 
the body. 

The particular fear of death, however, of which 
the text speaks, is essentially different from the 
instinctive, and is far from being a very common 
sentiment. The latter operates only in the actual 
presence of some cause which seems to threaten 



205 



the destruction of life. The reflective fear, on 
the other hand, may contemplate death at a dis- 
tance, and yet be appalled with the object. Yet 
how small the number, at any given moment, 
who are occupied with such a thought ! Of the 
multitudes whom one meets in the crowded 
streets of the city, nay, even of the multitudes 
assembled in the sanctuary on the Lord's day, 
how small a number are at the same moment, 
occupied with any vivid apprehension of their 
latter end. It cannot truly be said of them that 
they are under any conscious bondage to this 
fear. Death is one of the unavoidable facts in 
their future history which they find it most diffi- 
cult to realize. You cannot awaken the appre- 
hension of it by argument. It is not to be kindled 
up by any display of the statistics of mortality. 
The most appalling devastations of pestilence 
often fail to produce it. So long, indeed, as an 
individual is himself in the enjoyment of perfect 
health, he experiences great difficulty in realizing 
the nearness of his approaching dissolution, or of 
forming any very vivid conception of the awful 
retributions that shall follow it. 

In conformity with these views and the widest 
observation, it is evident that death is surround- 
ed with awful solemnity only in the degree in 
which the proper nature and dignity of man is 
clearly apprehended and felt. Viewing man as 
he stands at the lowest point in the scale of in- 
telligence — the rude savage whose mental powers 

s 



206 



are wholly undeveloped, whose conscience has 
nothing more than the very feeblest concep- 
tions of right and wrong, with scarce an idea of 
God or of his own immortality, whose past life 
has consisted, in various proportions, only of in- 
dolent repose, or of precarious pursuit and fitful 
enjoyment,— men, in such a condition, seldoni 
think of death, for they think little of the future. 
Their cares, hopes, fears, are limited to the pre- 
sent hour. Even when death is imminent, as by 
the upsetting of a canoe, or the rage of a wild 
beast, or the fury of a fellow savage, they are 
probably strangers to all fear save the momentary 
and instinctive. They shrink from the mortal 
blow more from the animal propensity which 
shrinks from pain than from any gloomy dread of 
mortality. For with what ideas can death be 
associated in the mind of such a one, who in all 
the days of his life has never permitted his 
thoughts to range beyond the pursuits and 
pleasures of the passing hour ? What, but that 
if he should be felled by the club of an enemy, 
or devoured by wolves, he shall no more need to 
endure the toils of the chase, or enjoy the feast 
upon his captured prey ; that he shall mingle no 
more with the families of his tribe, or go to war 
with their enemies. Such, as we learn from all 
observation of the customs and feelings of savage 
tribes, is the apathy with which they look on 
death. They are not distressingly in bondage to 
the fear even when the fatal stroke is impending. 



mi 



Eternity, judgment, the immortality of the soul 
have no distinct or vivid place among their ideas. 
As the brutes they perish without regrets for the 
past — ^without fear for the future. 

But when we contemplate the human being 
raised one or two steps higher in the scale of 
improvement, at that point when the distinct 
nature of the soul, and its separate existence 
after death is received, then the transition be- 
comes invested with new attributes. Now it is 
associated with hopes and fears, according as he 
looks upon his fate in the regions into which the 
disembodied soul shall be ushered. The North 
American Indian who fancies that his soul will 
migrate to a better hunting territory will not re- 
gard with any painful apprehension the chance 
to which he may fall a victim. The Celtic war- 
rior who imagined that in the hall of Odin, 
among the souls of glorified heroes, he would 
drink wine from the skulls of the vanquished ; — 
the soldiers of Mahomet, who believed that the 
sacrifice of their lives in his proselyting wars 
would ensure immediate admission to the bowers 
of their sensual paradise — such hopes as these 
in the Indian, in the Celt, or in the Mussulman, 
though resting on mere presumption and excited 
fancy, exerted, as we well know, a mighty in- 
fluence on the conduct of those who cherished 
them. By them the darkness and gloom, asso- 
ciated with the idea of death were dispelled ; the 
instinctive dread of the struggles of dissolution 



208 



were overcome ; each, under the hallucination of 
his own creed, regarded death not as a thing to 
be dreaded, but as a thing to be braved. With 
reckless daring they rushed into the forefront of 
the battle, happy alike whether they cut down 
their adversary, or met death at his hand ; in the 
one case their victory was rewarded in this life, 
in the other self-sacrifice received its meet re- 
compense hereafter. In whatever form they met 
death, it was not to them an object of fear. 
Faith, or fancy, shed its light upon the scene, 
and in despite of all its concomitants, the issue 
was a thing to be chosen, and was chosen by 
multitudes, with an undoubting and triumphant 
presumption. 

The same observations may be made respect- 
ing all heathen nations of ancient or modern 
times, of which we have any knowledge. If the 
doctrine of the soul's immortality did not prevail 
among them ; if they regarded death as a per- 
petual sleep, or thought little or nothing about 
the matter, then was there nothing in the pros- 
pect to inspire fear ; they met it in calmness or 
in stupor, unsolicitous about the issue. If that 
doctrine were admitted as a probability, on the 
mere light of nature, then the tendency was to 
assimilate the future to the present, and to call 
in the soothing anticipations of hope. Accord- 
ingly we do not find anywhere in the history of 
heathen nations, nor does the traveller ever meet 
with, among such in the present day, an instance 



209 



where the fear of death in any of its ordinary 
forms, is reckoned an event of unmingled terror, 
fitted to cast a dark shadow over the whole life — 
an event standing up in gloomy perspective, and 
holding in the chains of fear, the pilgrim, as he 
journeys onward to meet his fate, in entire igno- 
rance of what must be endured in the transition, 
and of the good or evil that lies beyond. Where- 
ever the divine revelation has not shed its light, 
there must be darkness and uncertainty, but not 
necessarily foreboding and fear. These arise 
from the sense of guilt and the consequences of 
a coming retribution — sentiments rarely awak- 
ened with much vividness, except in connexion 
with the faith which has brought life and im- 
mortality to light. 

We come, then, to the remarkable fact, that 
the particular sentiment of which the apostle 
speaks in the text, is peculiar to Christians — and 
is in them a sequence of that purer light which 
their creed throws upon their destiny. The 
doctrine of the soul's immortality, is received 
among the indubitable articles of our faith ; we 
believe that the soul, at the moment of our dis- 
solution, shall enter upon a state of retribution to 
receive according to the deeds done in the body ; 
that the doom which shall be pronounced upon 
it by the eternal judge shall be irreversible, and 
that should it be the doom of condemnation, no 
tongue can describe the bitterness of the penalty. 
Such a prospect cannot be contemplated without 
s2 



210 



the deepest solicitude, and should the dontetn- 
plator have a lively apprehension of his own sin- 
fulness, — of his exposedness to condemnation, — 
of his unfitness to appear at the tribunal of God, 
— then there does exist in his mind abundant 
cause why death should be regarded as the most 
terrible of all events ; and why, in every thought- 
ful moment, he should be held in bondage by the 
fear of it. Now this is the actual condition of a 
very large number of those who bear the Chris- 
tian name. They feel that they are not prepared 
to die ; they have a lively apprehension of the 
terrible consequences of dying unprepared ; they 
feel that consignment to the regions of misery 
would not be mOre than their iniquities deserve ; 
they know that mercy is freely offered to all who 
believe in Christ, but they are not sure that 
they truly believe, because their faith has not 
produced any very remarkable sanctifying effect 
upon them ; they have some hope, indeed, but 
their hope is darkly mingled with fear; and so 
much uncertainty rests upon their eternal pros- 
pects, that the idea of being shortly summoned 
to enter upon them, awakens a fear of death 
through which they are all their life time subject 
to bondage. 

It must be obvious that in the degree in which 
this is ja faithful delineation of any man's spiritual 
condition, there exist the most valid grounds of 
fear. For what other sentiment could be appro- 
priate to the state of an accountable being, liable 



at any mometit to be summoned to render his ac- 
Gduiit, and yet eonseions to himself that he is all 
nnprepared to render it ? What other feeling 
than that of fear, should fill the bosom of an im- 
mortal being contemplating his immortality, 
when he is conscious that his character is such, 
if justice were to be dealt out to him, as might 
render that immortality wretched ? Upon a 
question of so macih moment to doubt is to be 
miserable ; and if conscience be tender and the 
temperament gloomy, the ideas associated with 
dissolution, will be full of dark forebodings, and 
through fear of death, such will be all their life- 
time subject to bondage. But there is a way 
of deliverance. For the illustration of this grand 
fact in the economy of redemption, and of 
the mediatorial power of Christ, it is neces- 
sary to consider the principal circumstances from 
which the fear of death arises, and in what man^ 
ner the plan of our redemption has provided for 
their removal. 

The first element in the fear of death is a guilty 
conscience. The sting of death is sin.'^^ The 
sinner trembles to meet God whom he has offend- 
ed, and to be judged according to that law which 
he has broken. Death-^death eter'nal is the 
penalty, and unless somehow cancelled, natural 
death introduces the period of its infliction. This 
is the close of his probationary life ; — the sinner 
mtlst then appear at the judgment seat of Christ 
to receive his doom. Now the gospel meets 



212 



this peculiar element in the sinners fears. It 
teaches that " there is no condemnation to them 
who are in Christ Jesus" — to them who truly be- 
lieve in him ; who embrace his gospel ; who 
confide in him as their mediator. This faith in 
Christ is a simple act of the mind confiding in 
the testimony which God hath given concern- 
ing his Son. We stay not now to speak of the 
evidence on which it rests. We have at present 
to do only with the act itself, and the antidote 
which it brings to the sinners fears. And most 
manifest it is that this antidote to the fear which 
guilt inspires must be complete in all who un- 
feignedly believe that through the death of Christ 
the penalty has been cancelled in their particular 
case, and because they believe in his name. The 
God of Mercy hath in the gospel propounded this 
as the condition of mercy, and the believing 
penitent accepts the condition, relies on the 
faithfulness of the promiser, and experiences 
peace in believing : — and if at that moment he 
were summoned to the tribunal of heaven, he 
would pass through the iron gate without fear, 
because the Saviour in whom he confides hath 
" abolished death" — every thing in that transition 
which has in it the nature of curse or penalty : — 
" the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus 
Christ our Lord." Now, we pray you to con- 
sider attentively, the peculiar ground of this 
peace, the free nature of this gift — for dim, un- 
steady, apprehensions on this point often perpe- 



213 



tuate the bondage of which the text speaks both 
in the healthful and the dying. To dispel the 
fear, we do not call the attention of the an- 
xious mind to any nice analysis of the cha- 
racter of their faith ; — to the minute evidences of 
reformation that may be discoverable in their 
life ; — to the signs of penitential sorrow which 
they may have exhibited ; to the purposes of new 
obedience by which they are actuated : all these 
are proper subjects of frequent, solemn examina- 
tion on the part of every Christian, both in the 
season of health and on a death-bed. But de- 
liverance from the fear of death will never result 
from such an examination, however favorable 
may be the signs : — and when numerous defi- 
ciencies are discoverable in all the graces of the 
Christian temper, hope and peace cannot repose 
on it : we need something else than these im- 
perfect and infant excellencies to rest on ; they 
could not bear the scrutiny of him, in whose sight 
the heavens are impure and the angels are 
charged with folly : and so strong would be the 
fears even of the Christian of highest attain- 
ments, had he nothing else than his own attain- 
ments to trust in, that the near approach of eter- 
nal realities would utterly overwhelm him. But 
the Christian well instructed in the faith, turns 
not to these imperfect qualities at all when in 
search of an antidote to his fears. He turns to 
the great facts which the gospel proclaims, — that 
in the plan of mercy, an atonement has been 



2U 

made for the sins of the world that all who 
coi-dially embrace Christ as their mediator 
obtain peace and everlasting life ; that the bles- 
sings of redemption are proffered to every one 
" without money and without price and that 
faith itself, by which the soul is enabled to em- 
brace Christ, is the gift of God, so that salvation 
in its origin, progress and end is all of grace — a 
grace rich, generous, inexhaustible as the infinite 
from which it flows. Enlightened with these 
truths, conscious of his own guilt and impotence, 
the true believer seeks nothing else to rely on 
but Christ — the all-sufficient Saviour. By him 
sin is atoned for ; the offended majesty of heaven 
is reconciled; sanctifying grace is secured; 
death is conquered ; heavenly mansions are pre* 
pared, and a safe conduct thither guaranteed. 
What more is needed to dispel that fear of death 
by which some are all their life time subject to 
bondage ? 

We may note a second element in the fear of 
death, the consciousness of a want of preparation 
for the eternal world, and the method by which 
the Christian obtains deliverance. 

Every man who has derived his knowledge of 
the invisible state from the Bible, must, when he 
realizes his entrance upon it as near, look upon 
his unpreparedness for so solemn a transition 
with profound solicitude. The stains which 
man contracts in his pilgrimage through the 
world, are engrained in all ; we each carry about 



215 



with us a body of sin and death — tendencies to 
evil from which we are not purified, and gracious 
dispositions which have scarcely proceeded be- 
yond the blade or ear. What Christian, even 
though firmly trusting that he has passed from a 
state of condemnation to a state of peace, would 
not be filled with a solemn dread at the thought 
of passing, within a short period, to the general 
assembly and church of the first born, and into 
the presence of an innumerable company of 
angels, and of the spirits of the just made perfect ; 
to appear before God, the judge of all, and Jesus 
the Mediator of the New Covenant? Even 
though delivered from the fear which guilt in- 
spires, he would yet be filled with the fear which 
holiness inspires, and that to a degree which 
would make him tremble with convulsive ap- 
prehension, were it announced to him that he 
stood upon the near margin of these eternal 
scenes, and would shortly be summoned to enter 
upon them. This sense of unfitness — of unpre- 
paredness — of the pollution of indwelling sin, 
will always be cause of humiliation to the Chris- 
tian, and, in the circumstances we have sup- 
posed, it might even be cause of distressing fear. 
But faith provides for this a remedy, as in the 
preceding instance. The sanctification of the 
believer follows his justification in sure sequence. 
Sin will not have the dominion over him. Grace 
will triumph in its eradication. The body of sin 
and death will not pass with him into the world 



216 



of spirits. Whatever defilement the soul receives 
through its connexion with the body will cease 
with dissolution, and the soul itself — sanctified 
in all its affections and powers — will be pre- 
sented by him who hath redeemed it, without 
spot or wrinkle before God. Faith, therefore, 
speaks to the dying believer not of a battle that 
may be lost, but of a victory that shall be won ; 
won through that very transition in which the 
soul becomes disembodied — separated from the 
impurities of sense and matter, and made like 
unto the angels. With this deliverance in sure 
prospect there is much to reconcile the Christian 
to his last change, though pain , and darkness and 
mystery should overshadow the path that con- 
ducts to it. Some nights of pain and restless- 
ness, — then pain and restlessness shall cease for 
ever. A few more contests with sinful propen- 
sities, and the enemy will cease to harass. A 
few more clouds floating over his prospects 
through a feeble faith, or a distempered brain, 
and then he shall be borne away to regions where 
his sky shall be always cloudless and serene. Is 
there not enough in this assurance to quiet every 
fear, and move the tempted and dying believer 
to wait in hope the hour of his deliverance. 

Shall the Moslem's fancy exert a greater in- 
fluence in subduing the fear of death than the 
Christian's faith ? Can it be possible that the 
visions of enthusiasm, based on imposture, and 
anticipating only the gratification of the lower 



217 



appetites, shall be more potent to extinguish the 
fear of death than the faith of the Christian based 
on truth revealed, and anticipating a state of ex- 
istence in which the soul shall be continually ad- 
vancing in knowledge and holiness to the simili- 
tude of God ?* It cannot be. 

We shall notice only one other element in the 
fear of death — the natural dread with which we 
contemplate the severance of those ties which 
bind us to our kindred ; and the antidote which 
our heavenly Father has provided for this fear. 

The severance of these ties cannot be contem- 
plated in the season of health and strength with- 
out anguish ; nor does it seem to be the duty of 
any one to forecast the hour of separation, and 
to speculate upon the temper with which he may 
possibly meet this his last trial upon earth. This 
can rarely be done with a just apprehension of 
circumstances, and therefore can rarely be at- 
tended with any practical advantage. It is 
enough for us to cultivate the habit of grateful 
submission to the will of God under emergent 
events, and to trust that in all coming trials 
divine grace will sustain the habit, according to 
the promise — " as thy day is so shall thy strength 
be." But let us note the gracious arrangements 
by which the way is generally smoothed for the 
disruption of those ties which bind the children 
of God to the world. How often has it been ob- 
served, months and even years before, that they 
had been repining for the change as it drew near. 

* See note page 224. 

T 



218 



Their affection for their kindred was not less, 
but it gradually assumed a more heavenly com- 
plexion — dwelt more upon the excellences and 
endearments that were spiritual, and indicated 
by unmistakable signs, an inward longing for 
those regions where only the spiritual and the 
durable will be loved. They felt, and after they 
are gone, we may be able distinctly to remember 
how the feeling was manifested — a deeper so- 
lemnity in spiritual exercises ; they were more 
frequent and fervent in prayer; they evinced 
greater interest in the word read, or in the word 
preached ; a holier tenderness in commemorat- 
ing the Saviour's passion ; a gTeater activity of 
benevolence ; a sweeter gentleness, meekness, 
patience ; a readiness to forgive, or to ask for- 
giveness ; a something in the whole demeanor 
which, if slightly noted at the time, may be vivid- 
ly recollected after the friend is gone — indicated 
as distinctly the ripening process for a higher 
condition of existence, as the whitening of the 
field indicates the approach of harvest ; and while 
this is going on, there may often be noted, that 
progress in the moral affections which prepares 
for the approaching severance of all the ties of 
kindred and friendship. Those who are to be 
left behind are committed without distrust to the 
care of the Father who is in heaven, and with a 
lively apprehension that the period of separation 
will be short. Thus the process for the Chris- 
tian's willing and gentle disseverment from earth 



219 



is matured. But often other means are employed 
by him who hath made in man the love of life a 
strong instinct — often a physical as well as a 
moral discipline is employed to overcome it. 
The tabernacle is shaken — terribly rent and 
shaken — that the occupant may be made willing 
to leave it : and when not thus dealt with by 
severe disease, age comes with its manifold in- 
firmities and desolations, evoking the prayer : — 
" Lord now let thy servant depart in peace." 
Thus the benignant power which presides over 
the destiny of man, prepares his children to meet 
it, not only by the dispensations of grace, but by 
the arrangements of nature. Grace raises the 
aJffections to heavenly scenes ; — nature changing 
all things around, reconciles us to our last 
change ; and both conspire to teach us acquies- 
cence in the purposes of heaven, and to strengthen 
the hope that in a higher state of existence our re- 
demption shall be complete, and our felicity un- 
mingled and perpetual. 

Permit me now to offer a word of admonition 
to those who may be total strangers to that bon- 
dage to the fear of death of which the text 
speaks. 

It is quite possible that some of you may 
never have experienced it. Multitudes within 
the pale of the Christian Church, profess- 
ing its creed, and looking forward at times to 
the world of retribution, have never felt any 
fear lest their unforgiven sins should entail con- 



220 



demnation and death everlasting. Yet whether 
you fear or not, a sincere belief in the articles of 
your creed must constrain you to acknowledge 
that every impenitent sinner has cause to fear. 
To appear before your judge to whom you have 
never sought to be reconciled ; to hazard the fate 
of eternity on any moral excellence that you may 
fancy yourself to possess ;— this is an infatuation 
without a parallel ! Your unconsciousness of 
danger is no evidence whatever that your case is 
free from danger : on the contrary it is one of the 
saddest symptoms of your case — the delusive 
dream, the stupifying torpor which precludes 
hope because it precludes effort. It is possible 
that this dream may not be dissolved until you 
enter upon eternal scenes. Often the wicked 
have no bands in their death : they do not fear 
as other men ; their strength is firm. The de- 
lusion that lasts through life is sometimes strong 
enough to last through the dark valley. But it 
is also true that painful sickness, and the near 
approach of eternity, often endue the soul with a 
keener spiritual perception, and bring into a 
clearer light the character and perilous position of 
the sinner. The true nature and demerit of sin is 
then more fully apprehended ; its burden crushes 
with an oppressive weight ; the method of relief, 
is not discerned, because the soul, filled with 
this hitherto unknown wretchedness, cannot look, 
beyond itself. How sad this wretchedness when 
it comes upon a man in his season of infirmity 



221 



and decay to aggravate the sufferings of the sick 
bed by the forebodings of an eternity unpre- 
pared for. This may be your condition if the 
consideration of your case and duty, as a sinner, 
is deferred to your last hour. Better far that the 
fear of death should now hold you in galling bond- 
age than that you should go onward to the last 
stage wrapped up in a fatal delusion Fear may 
prompt you to seek deliverance ; delusive 
security never. We would try to awaken these 
fears — the fear of God whom you have offended 
— of death, for which you are unprepared, — of 
eternity, which holds out only the prospect of per- 
dition to the unsanctified soul — meditate, O sin- 
ner on these things, until fear constrain you to 
flee from the wrath to come. 

Be entreated then in conclusion, to exercise that 
forethought, which is one of the characteristics of 
your rational nature — exercise itupon the common 
doom. Death, in our creed is dissolution, not 
destruction, transition, or annihilation. It is an 
event in the progress of our being lying on the con- 
fines which divide time from eternity. That event 
passed, time ceases and eternity begins. To re- 
assert the nearness of its approach, is no more 
than the repetition of a common-place, and yet 
the solemn consideration of the common-place — 
this fact of your mortality — this certainty of its 
near approach, is of highest moment to you. If 
your strong attachment to the objects by which 
you are now surrounded renders every conside- 



222 



ration of the hour of disseverment melancholy— 
and in your judgment, better to be waited for 
blindfold than through fear of it to be all your 
life time subject to bondage ; if the conscious- 
ness of guilt render all thought of eternity an ob- 
ject of your aversion ; if yielding to these senti- 
ments, the one binding you more closely to earth 
as the period of your connection with it hastens 
to a close, the other rendering the world of re- 
tribution more dreadful as you approach its conr 
fines, — what can the issue be, but a shock in the 
day of your extremity, terrible beyond concep- 
tion, when the dreadful truth will be forced upon 
you, that all which you value on earth must be 
left behind, while all that is of value in eternity 
has been by you cast away through thoughtless- 
ness and unbelief. Thousands act thus, and thus 
perish, every day : from their fate, there comes to 
you the solemn warning — " What is a man profit- 
ed though he should gain the whole world, and 
lose his soul ; or what will a man give in ex- 
change for his soul ?" Give heed to these ad- 
monitory words. Ponder well the consequences 
of a false choice. The whole world cannot be 
gained. In the sense of a permanent possession 
none of it whatever can be gained ; — all its at- 
tractions will fade from your glassy eye and 
every atom will drop from your stiffened fingers ; 
and the few feet of earth in which your body is 
laid to moulder will soon become the abode of 
another tenant. You cannot gain any part of the 



22S 



world as a permanent possession. But you may 
lose the soul : its training for the next stage of 
its existence may be wholly neglected : the im- 
purities contracted in time may not be washed 
away in the laver of regeneration : the guilt on 
which divine justice frowns may not be pardon- 
ed — because pardon was not sought in penitence 
and prayer : eternal life offered in the gospel as 
a free gift — not deemed worthy of acceptance 
—may be lost ; and this lost, the soul is lost — 
sunk for ever in the abyss of its impurities, con- 
signed by inflexible justice to the prison-house 
where God has forgotten to be gracious, to endure 
unmitigated the righteous penalty of its trans- 
gressions. Upon the gloom of such a possibility 
the gospel shed the rays of hope — a hope which 
brightens in the bosom of the believers until 
every streak of darkness ha:^ vanished. To him 
the contemplation of his latter end, is not a theme 
of sadness : it is the close of a perilous warfare : 
the last stage in the valley of sin and tears : it is 
the commencement of a new period of being, — 
covered as yet with a thick veil, — yet stretching 
onward in perpetual beatitude, since the ransomed 
shall pass it in the favor of God, and be satisfied 
with his likeness. Amen. 



NOTE. 

A late eminent philosopher has well and beautifully said : — 
" I envy no quality of mind, or intellect in others — not genius, 
power, wit, or fancy ; but if I could choose what would be most 
delightful, and, I believe most useful to me, I should prefer a firm 
religious belief to every other blessing, for it makes life a disci- 
pline of goodness, creates new hopes when all earthly hopes vanish, 
and throws over the decay, the destruction of existence, the most 
gorgeous of all lights ; awakens life even in death ; and from cor- 
ruption and decay, calls up beauty and divinity ; makes an in- 
strument of torture and of shame the ladder of ascent to paradise ; 
and far above all combination of earthly hopes, calls up the most 
delightful visions — (palms and amaranth,) — the gardens of the 
blessed, the security of everlasting love, where the sensualist and 
sceptic view only gloom, decay, and annihilation." 

Sir Humphbkt Davt, 



PEACE IN CHRIST. 



PEACE IN CHRIST. 



These things have I spoken unto you, that in me ye might haTe 
peace. — Johnxvi. 33 

These words of the Saviour are very remark- 
able when viewed in connexion with the actual 
circumstances in which they were spoken. 

His brief sojourn among men was near its 
close. Thirty years of it had been passed in an 
obscurity which the evangelical historians have 
not penetrated or relieved, except by a very few 
incidents. During the three years of his public 
life, though he had attracted the attention of his 
countrymen, yet the fact predicted by the evan- 
gelical prophet was undeniably manifest — " he 
came unto his own, and his own received him 
not." Christ had acquired no political power. 
By his personal ministry he had not even effected 
any great or extensive moral reform. The people 
generally displayed no very remarkable, or con- 
stant eagerness to attach themselves to his mi- 
nistry, or to submit to his prophetic authority. 
The high priests, the grand council of the na- 
tion, watched his every movement with a hostile 
jealousy. A plot formed by them, for his des- 



22S 



truction, in which one of the disciples of Christ, 
faithless to his master, was to be a chief agent, 
was on the eve of what appeared to them a suc- 
cessful accomplishment. The bargain had been 
struck with the betrayer ; the emissaries of the 
Sanhedrim were already on the alert ; and within 
a few hours, as they hoped, their hostility would 
be gratified, and the pseudo-prophet of Galilee 
would be crushed by the hand of power. 

Within the upper room where Christ was as- 
sembled with his disciples to eat the passover, 
no external circumstances seemed in keeping 
with the calm serenity of the speaker, with the 
dignity of his demeanor and his assertions of 
authority and dominion. For the use of the 
place in which they were assembled they were 
indebted to a stranger. The men who surround- 
ed him were without wealth, without learning, 
without note, — selected from the humblest con- 
dition. At times, under the influence of their 
own hopes, they appeared to be animated with 
a bold and courageous spirit ; fear and perplex- 
ity, however, on this evening were manifestly 
their prevailing sentiments. And though their 
master's discourse was in the main consolatory 
and encouraging, yet it contained several allu^ 
sions which must have tended, in the sadness of 
their circumstances, to darken their melancholy 
thoughts. He speaks of his own near departure 
from them ; that the world would hate them ; 
that in the world they should have tribulation. 



^29 



They shall put you out of the synagogues : yea 
the time cometh, that whosoever killeth you 
will think that he doeth God service." Yet 
amidst all these sad concomitants and prospects, 
the divine teacher is calm, unmoved, dignified ; 
speaking to the little band around him with in- 
expressible tenderness, the words of warning and 
encouragement. " These things I have spoken 
unto you that in me ye might have peace. In 
the world ye shall have tribulation ; but be of 
good cheer, I have overcome the world." 

What then, we are entitled to ask, inspired 
Christ with this high magnanimity and warranted 
this largeness of promise to his followers ? 

Magnanimity is inseparable from true great- 
ness. History sets before us many noble dis^ 
plays of it in great men. In such the virtue rises 
with the surrounding peril. It looks calmly on 
its terrors, and meets, and endures, and conquerSo 
Men of the right mould will face danger, will 
endure suffering with a fortitude unshaken, with 
a tranquility undisturbed, under the influence 
of some master principle, and when the soul is 
aroused to its best condition. But our Lord's 
display of this virtue, on the evening of his pas- 
sion, is full of superhuman, divine peculiarities, 
—all nourished by the heavenly and the future. 
He speaks of returning to his father ; of going to 
his father's house to prepare mansions for his fol- 
lowers ; of coming again to put them in posses- 
sion ; of sending, meanwhile, the comforter, the 
u 



230 



spirit of truth, to guide them into all truth. Noth- 
ing more remarkably exhibits his character and 
claims than the style of that prayer which on this 
paschal evening he offered up unto God. " Glorify 
thy son, that thy son also may glorify thee. 
Glorify thou me with thine own self with the 
glory which I had with thee before the world 
was. Holy Father, keep through thine own 
name those whom thou hast given me, that they 
may be one as we are. Father, I will that 
they also whom thou hast given me be with me 
where I am, that they may behold my glory 
which thou hast given me ; for thou lovedst me 
before the foundation of the world." In every 
part of this, the most remarkable of prayers ever 
offered up unto God, it is manifest that the offerer, 
notwithstanding the humiliation that surrounded 
him, claimed a relationship with the Godhead 
that only the first begotten of the Father is en- 
titled to claim — a participation of the divine 
glory — identity of nature — unity of counsel, the 
prerogatives of sovereignty in the bestowment of 
eternal life and all the blessings that conduct to 
it. Uniting these claims so clearly set forth in 
this solemn hour that preceded his passion, and 
in his latest discourse to his disciples, with the 
facts contained in his antecedent and subsequent 
history, the true believer feels himself able to re- 
pose on the supreme divinity which they demon- 
strate. The being who gave sight to the blind, 
and hearing to the deaf ; who satisfied the 



231 



hunger of thousands with the bread that was not 
more than sufficient for a few ; who raised the 
dead to life ; who controuled the elements of 
nature by his word, — the being exerting a power 
like this, could not invade unwarrantably the 
prerogatives of God. He said truly, " I have 
glorified thee on the earth : I have finished the 
work which thou gavest me to do and when 
aught appears in his discourse that intimates a re- 
lationship to the Godhead closer than that which 
even the most exalted creature may claim, we 
are constrained humbly to embrace the mystery ; 
— to believe his word, when he says : " My 
Father is greater than I," not less than when 
he says : " I and my Father are one." The 
union of the divine with the human in the person 
of Christ, is one of the clearest points in the 
Book which unfolds to us the attributes and plans 
of God. We adore our Redeemer as " God 
manifest in the flesh and when he promises 
" peace" to his disciples, we can affectionately 
repose on the fidelity and power of the promiser. 
" For he is the image of the invisible God, the 
firstborn of every creature : For by him were all 
things created, that are in heaven, and that are 
in earth, visible and invisible, whether they he 
thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: 
all things were created by him, and for him : 
And he is before all things, and by him all things 
consist. And he is the head of the body, the 
church : who is the beginning, the firstborn from 



2S2 



the dead ; that in all things he might have the 
preeminence. For it pleased the Father that in 
him should all fulness dwell ; And, having 
made peace through the blood of his cross, by 
him to reconcile all things unto himself ; by him, 
/ say^ whether they be things in earth, or things 
in heaven." " These things I have spoken unto 
you, that in me ye might have peace." 

The whole history of God's people, and their 
position in the midst of this present evil world 
forbid us to interpret this promise in the sense of 
an external tranquility. The apostles, to whom 
the words were originally addressed, never en- 
joyed this. That very evening they were scat- 
tered in perplexity and fear : and when after the 
day of pentecost they entered upon their apos- 
tolical career, they encountered at every point 
toils, privation, hostility, suffering, and some of 
them finished their course by martyrdom. The 
same to a great extent has been the lot of 
the people of God in every age of the church. 
When free from persecution on account of their 
Christian profession, they had yet to endure, in 
common with their fellow man, all the evils in- 
cident to human life. For the most part they 
have been found among the poor of this world ; 
their lot has been a lot of toil with all the inci- 
dent hardships and privations. For although 
Christianity, when left to its own free and natural 
operation, always improves the temporal condi- 
tion of society, yet, in a mixed and irreligious 



233 



community, its gracious influence will often be 
counteracted, and its adherents will be affected 
by the common calamities. 

We must turn, therefore, in our interpretation 
of the promise in the text to an internal peace of 
which all who are in Christ Jesus are the pos- 
sessors. And this flows as a river, clear, 
quiet, deep from its fountain in the heavens. 
Everything in the Christian's privileges and pros- 
pects is fitted to promote it, and to give it sta- 
bility. It reposes on the gospel of reconciliation 
which assures us of the mercy and love of our 
heavenly Father. " We have peace with God 
through our Lord Jesus Christ." It is a fruit of 
that divine comforter, promised to be with the 
church, by whose illumination the believer dis- 
cerns more clearly the foundation of his hope ; 
by whom he is inspired with filial confidence 
towards God ; and every power of his soul is 
brought into holy accordance with the divine 
will. We may observe its sources and effects in 
a few particulars. 

1. When we are oppressed with a painful 
sense of guilt, we look to the cross of Christ and 
experience peace in believing. In a soul morally 
sensitive, the consciousness of guilt, and the ap- 
prehension of the displeasure of God, must be a 
source of the liveliest disquietude. It presses at 
every point, and at every moment. We cannot 
tell when, or in what manner judgment may 
strike. If not averted, we know it must strike 



234 



soon — for the state of retribution is at hand* 
Nothing, apart from the mediation of Christ, can 
take away this fearful apprehension. But in 
him we have peace — reconciliation with God. 
The cross dissolves the thick clouds with which 
the apostacy of our race had enveloped the throne 
of God. It discloses the attribute of mercy 
operating in harmony with righteousness and 
truth. We receive its doctrines on the best of all 
evidence, in the simplicity of an humble faith, 
and, in despite of the mysteries by which they 
are encompassed, we are filled with peace 
and joy in believing. We not only apprehend 
the possibility of mercy, through faith we feel 
it to be ours : — being justified freely through the 
redemption that is in Christ Jesus, we have peace 
with God. 

2. Again, when self-examination discloses the 
sins of the heart, and the sins of the life, and we 
are filled with fear of the divine displeasure, we 
confide in him who is our propitiation, and we 
obtain peace. " There is therefore now no con- 
demnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, 
who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit. 
For the law of the Spirit of life, in Christ Jesus 
hath made me free from the law of sin and 
death. For what the law could not do, in that 
it was weak through the flesh, God sending his 
own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for 
sin, condemned sin in the flesh." Our own 
hearts testify that it is not our purpose to walk 



235 



after the flesh ; that in virtue of a better purpose 
we are all already free from the law of sin and 
death, not only in its fouler debasements, but 
even from the toleration of its more secret im- 
purities. We long after a clean heart — a right 
spirit. We exercise discipline over our thoughts 
and affections ; we have a strong desire to carry 
our religion about with us, not as the drapery of 
a graceful garment, but as a new nature, en- 
stamped with the image of the heavenly, actuated 
with its principles, hopes, and energies. We 
may be conscious of all this, and at the same 
time be conscious of innumerable sins in heart 
and life. Nay, the stronger " the law of the 
spirit of life" is within us, the more clearly we 
shall discover the sublimity of that pattern to 
which we must be conformed, the holy extent 
of that moral code by which our conduct must 
be regulated ; — the more perfect our moral vision 
becomes, the more deeply will we be humbled 
even with these lighter shades of ungodliness ; 
the more delicate the sensibility of our con- 
science, the livelier will be our apprehension of 
the divine displeasure. In these attributes of 
character the true Christian is always making 
progress, and were it not that in the gospel there 
is provided an antidote for the disquietude of 
a tenderer religious sensibility, his progress 
would not be onward to peace, but to fear and 
anxiety and trembling. An antidote, however, 
is provided to soothe these affections, and to 



236 



convert them into the instrument of farther sanc- 
tification. By virtue of our relationship to Christ, 
sin is not imputed to the believer ; he is not un- 
der the law, but under grace ; he will not come 
into condemnation, because he believeth on the 
only begotten Son of God ; he may be chastised 
for it, but he will not be destroyed ; he may be 
wounded in the conflict, and there may be mo- 
ments when his heart will faint within him, but 
he will be brought off more than conqueror 
through him that loved him. Nor, as all Chris- 
tian experience will testify, does this faith in 
Christ dispose the believer to relax diligence ; 
or to sin because grace abounds. On the con- 
trary there is no moment when he is actuated 
with an intenser hatred of sin in himself, than in 
that moment when he humbly hopes that he is 
forgiven. The brighter the manifestation of re^ 
deeming mercy, the humbler will he become, — 
the more sin-hating, — the more disposed to 
crucify the old man with his affection and lust, 
and to put on the new man, which, after God, is 
created anew in righteousness and true holiness. 
Thus the peace which springs from the righteous^ 
ness of Christ imputed to him, will be strength- 
ened by the growth of a personal righteousness 
which the spirit of Christ works within him. 
For the work of righteousness is peace, and the 
effect of righteousness, quietness and assurance 
for ever, 

3. Again, the promise of Christ in the text is 



237 



fulfilled to us in another condition ; — when trem- 
bling under a sense of weakness in the presence 
of our enemies, we repose in the faithfulness of 
Christ, and obtain peace. Every one who has 
seriously entered upon the spiritual warfare, will 
feel at times depressed with a painful sense of his 
spiritual impotence. We feel our inability to hold 
by the resolutions we have formed ; old habits re- 
vive ; old temptations solicit ; the cares of the 
world press heavily upon our leisure and thought ; 
an indisposition to meditation and prayer grows 
upon us; and we sometimes feel as if every 
sign of the Christian life had disappeared. 
In these seasons of depression and fear, turn- 
ing to the promises of our Redeemer, faith 
sees him point to each and all of them, saying, 
" these words have I spoken unto you that in me 
ye might have peace." " My grace is sufficient 
for you, my strength is made perfect in weak- 
ness." Greater is he that is for you than all 
who are against you. The assurance of the 
real presence of one mighty to save, and as will- 
ing as mighty, revives confidence. We know 
that he is Immanuel, God with us ; that his 
agency pervades all matter and all mind; that 
without any disturbance of their ordinary opera- 
tions, he can give vigour to our conceptions of 
truth ; determination to our choice of rectitude ; 
and ascendency to the principle of holy love. 
The assured conviction that he waits to accom- 
plish all this for us will animate us in that course 



238 



of activity to which we are called. With fear 
and trembling we may enter upon the work of 
salvation; but with hope too, since it is God 
who worketh in us, both to will and to do of his 
good pleasure. 

Forget not, my fellow Christians, that the 
strength of the believer is not in himself. It lies 
where his peace lies, in Christ, our strength and 
shield. The creeper that twines around the oak, 
and sends its tendrils into every crevice, can bear 
unhurt the hurricane that lays prostrate far 
stronger things ; for its strength is that of the 
trunk that supports it, over which the tempest 
hath no power. But let these tendrils be sepa- 
rated from the supporting stem, and it needs no 
storm to scatter the foliage of the parasite ; it 
falls by its own weight, and regains its place 
never. So is it with the Christian. He grows up 
with Christ his living head. Faith connects him 
with this fountain of life and strength. The 
consciousness of this union is part of his nature. 
As this consciousness is deepened, the believer 
can say, in the midst of many a fear, " I know 
in whom I have believed ; and that he is able to 
keep that which I have committed to his trust 
until that day." 

4. Again, the promise presented in the text, 
guarantees relief to the Christian's disquietude 
under the pressure of temporal adversity. Afflic- 
tion in one form or other, and sooner or later 
comes upon every child of Adam. Greatness can- 



239 



not raise any one above it. Like the flood of Noah, 
its waters rise above the highest mountains, and 
every joy that hath in it no more than the breath 
of an earthly life dies. Riches cannot purchase 
an exemption from trouble and sorrow — man is 
born to it. Seasons come less propitious to the 
industry of the husbandman; the inordinate 
rivalships of trade are followed by reverses ; 
human society is always fermenting with some 
new disorder ; pestilence rides upon the wings 
of the wind ; disease is bred in every element 
around us, and in every organ within us ; and 
death has set his mark on the door of every house, 
and on every brow. We need to be prepared 
for the sure coming consequences. Such of them 
as do not press upon us now, are close at hand. 
In the words that Christ has spoken to us we 
have a sure protection — not deliverance, but 
peace. He plays upon the key-board of nature 
and providence, and brings out of it the harmony 
of wisdom and beneficence. " All things shall 
work together for good to them who love God. 
" These light afflictions which are but for a mo- 
ment, work out for us a far more exceeding and 
eternal weight of glory." From this assurance 
springs that peace of God which shall keep your 
heart and mind through Jesus Christ. 

5. Finally, we may consider the promise in 
the text as given to Christians in their col- 
lective fellowship, when encompassed with dis- 
couragement and peril. 



uo 



As every past age has had its own perils 
and discouragements so has ours. This is 
pre-eminently an age of disunion ; of lifeless 
formalism ; in which the intense pursuit of 
material well-being, overmasters concern for 
the spiritual, and represses it. Even religious 
activity, as seen in some parts of the Catholic 
body, more resembles the convulsive twitching 
of some limb in a body prostrate by disease or 
accident, than the action of well balanced power 
in a living frame, moving harmoniously under the 
direction of an enlightened will; — limb strikes 
against limb, wasting its power upon itself, the 
most jerking member of the whole shouting 
loudest paeans over its own achievements. The 
trumpet of sectarian success never sounded louder 
than in our own day ; and never has there been 
more numerous squadrons in the field with no 
visible bond to unite their force in a common 
cause. Now and then we discover two coal- 
escing into one, where there never had existed 
any good reason for their separation ; — but, as a 
set off to this, we discover, on other parts of the 
ecclesiastical arena, the work of division going 
on as busily as ever, often with keen contention 
and many angry and bitter words. The heart of 
Christianity longs for a remedy to these evils,— 
yet still it comes not, — and the keenest eye of 
Catholic patriotism can scarcely descry it any 
where even in the distance. Were it not for the 
promises of Christ respecting the church, des- 



pondehcy would overwhelm those who sigK in 
secret for the enormity of these evils. But from 
above the dark cloud we hear his voice saying 
to us, be of good cheer, " the flock is mine.'* 
" It will never perish, neither shall any pluck i* 
but of my hand." Notwithstanding the division 
and strife that appear within it, and the oppo- 
sition arrayed without it, it moves on in its pre- 
dicted career ; and the causes that now seem to 
be obstructing its progress, will, under the con- 
tronl of a heavenly power, contribute to its ad-* 
vancement. Unholy rivalships, under such a 
power, may be converted into holy rivalships ; 
the growing intelligence of the age may become 
a sanctified intelligence ; the engine that speeds 
on commerce to its gains, may also speed on 
benevolence in its ehterprizes ; and " the spirit 
of the living creature may be within the wheels." 
This globe is preserved that the scheme of man's 
redemption may be completed on it. Eternal love 
prompted it ; unerring wisdom directs it ; almghty 
power bears it on. The circumference of its wheel 
is too vast for man to measure its progress — but riot 
only is it instinct with life, it is full of eyes, — 
and of all that hath been written concerning the 
cause in which it works, not one iota shall fail. 
" He shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, 
and the pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in his 
hands." These words have I spoken unto you 
that in me ye might have peace. 

Review often these consolatory words. The 
v 



242 



Christian's peace is the spring of the Christian's 
activity ; and that peace will most abound when 
we know the words of Christ, and are doing and 
suffering the righteous will of our heavenly 
Father. Seek it in the exercises of faith and 
prayer ; in the retirement of the closet, in the 
communion of saints. Having found it there, 
come forth with it, upon the arena of public life, 
where the scene of your duty lies. It will sus- 
tain your integrity, when that which has nought 
to support it, save a worldly prudence, will crum- 
ble away like a rotten thing. It will preserve 
your benevolence warm in trial, in reproach, in 
the winter of age, when the mere philanthropy 
of the worldling withers like the vegetation of a 
December landscape. It will prepare you to 
meet calmly, the last hour of life, which all re- 
flect on with solicitude ; and it will go with 
you into that state of being, where the saints 
of God, in the immediate presence of their 
Redeemer, enjoy the kingdom he hath prepared 
for them before the foundation of the world. 
Amen. 



THE PRECEDENT CLAIMS 

OF THB 

SPIRITUAL IN RELIGION OVER THE EXTERNAL. 



THE PEECEDENT CLAIMS 

OF THE 

SPIRITUAL m RELIGION OVER THE EXTERNAL. 



O come, let us worship and bow down : let US kneel before the 
Lord our mdikeT.— -Psalms xcv. 6, 

In the present state the soul dwells in a taber- 
nacle of clay, and can hold communication with 
external things only through those organs of sense 
which the Creator hath placed in it. By these 
senses there entereth all the beauties of the sur- 
rounding material world, the amenity of the land^ 
scape and the glories of the firmament ; the mu- 
sic of the grove and the roaring of the thunder ; 
the reviving odours of the vernal year, and the 
balmy air which invigorates all the springs of 
life, and makes breathing itself enjoyment. 

But while the soul is thus connected with the 
surrounding materialism by the corporeal organs 
of sense, it is equally evident that it is only 
through the same channel that it can hold any 
communication with the surrounding mind. 
One soul is separated from every other soul by its 
material envelope : each is shut up within its 



246 



own tenement, and can have no communication 
with another save through the organs of sense, act- 
ed upon by the external signs addressed to them. 
When there exists any defect in the external sense, 
communication by that sense is cut off — wis- 
dom at that entrance is quite shut out." The 
blind perceive not the expressions of thought and 
feeling which are made upon the human counte- 
nance by the workings of the soul within ; or the 
various indications of mental and moral charac- 
ter of which the very form and gait of man is the 
symbol ; nor can the deaf enjoy that intercourse 
with surrounding minds which we hourly enjoy, 
through the gift of speech — bywords, the arbitrary 
signs of thoughts, and by tones, expressive of the 
sentiments of the speaker, scarcely less varied 
and significant than words. In the present iso- 
lated state of the human soul, it is acted on only 
intermediately through the external senses : by 
these alone, it can hold communication with 
man, whether in matters of intellect or of religion. 

But though man's intercourse with man, in the 
present state be thus limited and thus conducted, 
it is highly probable, that the other orders of spi- 
ritual beings by whom we are surrounded, may 
have direct access to the soul — without any im- 
pediment from the body which isolates it from the 
individuals of our own species. There is much 
in Sacred Scripture to support the belief, that 
spirits, both good and bad, are permitted to act 
directly upon the embodied soul of man; that 



247 



they are capable of communicating ideas and 
awakening sentiments by direct impulse upon 
the soul's essential capacities ; and that man is 
prevented from holding a similar intercourse 
with them only through the present grossness of 
his material frame. When this is removed, which 
it will be at death, redeemed man will then be 
able to speak with the tongue of angels ; there 
may be a penetrating power in every spirit to 
discern intuitively what is passing in every other 
spirit ; such communications may be direct and 
instantaneous — not as now, by the slow and 
elaborate process of audible speech : all that is 
thought and all that is felt by pure intelligences 
needs no concealment, andw^illnot be concealed, 
m their perfect intercourse and congenial sym- 
pathies ; " their hearts and tongues are one 
and in a degree greater than we can now well 
comprehend, will be realized the promise : 
" here we see as through a glass darkly, but then 
face to face : here we know in part, but then 
shall we know even as also we are known." 

But we are admonished not to venture rashly 
or prematurely into speculation upon things un- 
seen. After a brief space, it shall be known to 
us in what manner angels and the spirits of the 
just made perfect hold communication with each 
other, and how the worship of the heavenly 
sanctuary is conducted. Meanwhile it belongs 
to us to worship God in the mode that is best 
adapted to the present constitution of our nature, 



248 



for that we may be assured is the method of 
God's appointment. We may profitably enquire, 
therefore, first, in what manner the external may 
be united with the spiritual in the private reli- 
gious exercises of the Christian; and secondly, how 
these should be combined in the public worship 
of the Sanctuary. 

Religion, and religious worship, is the soul's in- 
tercourse with God. Strictly speaking, the exter- 
nal forms no part of it. There need be no words 
— no attitudes — no altar. Divine worship in its 
essential part — that on which God looks, and 
which alone he will accept, consists in the state 
of the soul, in reverence and humility ; in pe- 
nitence and faith ; in hope and trust — affections 
excited by just views of the character of God, 
and of our own relation to Him as sinful crea- 
tures. Wherever these emotions exist, there is 
worship — the soul is then the temple of God, and 
God dwells with it. But though this silent spirit- 
ual worship independant of words, and time, 
and place, and ritual, and attitude — is indeed the 
privilege of the soul, yet, we are so constituted 
by nature, and so formed by habit, that words, 
and time, and place, and ritual, and attitude are 
not matters of indifference, even in the private ex- 
ercises of religious worship. The soul itself not 
only desiderates them to give external expression 
to its inward emotions, — but in its present em- 
bodied state they act reflexly upon it for the quick- 
ening of these emotions, and for affording us the 



means by which they may be prolonged, or reviv- 
ed, or communicated. The lofty conception of 
some divine attribute, displayed in the works, or 
the ways, or the word of God, will seek to be em- 
bodied in suitable language ; and in its low, deep- 
toned utterance, even in the inner chamber where 
it is heard by none save God, it will give perma- 
nence and depth to the emotion that prompted it. 
And let that utterance be made in the words 
which the Holy Ghost hath dictated, — in the song 
that hath been hallowed by the piety of departed 
generations, and associated with some hallowed 
recollections of our own, then — the emotion and 
the utterance, will be one living thing, rising up 
as sweet incense before the throne of God. Nor 
to creatures like us will time and place be mat- 
ters of indifference, even in the private exercises 
of religion. The customary hour, to a well con- 
stituted mind, contributes not a little in awaken- 
ing the customary train of thought and feeling : 
the seasons of morning and evening prayers — 
those solemn pauses in the great tide of human 
affairs on which we are all borne, will bring 
the frame that fits for it, and especially, when 
we retire to the domestic sanctuary, where prayer 
is wont to be made, and fall down in that lowly 
attitude, significant of the lowliness and rever- 
ence which became the sinful suppliant. Observe, 
it is not that we attach any value to these 
externals in themselves. Apart from the temper 
and habit of the mind they are without mean- 



250 



ing — without utility. When they are made the 
substitute, as they too often are, for that spiritual- 
ity of which they are no more than the outward 
expressions, they serve only to foster a very ruin- 
ous delusion. It is a drawing near to God with 
the lips, while the heart is far from Him — a kind 
of sacrifice that is an abomination in His sight. 
" For God is a spirit, and they that worship Him, 
must worship him in spirit and in truth." Be- 
ware of thus offering unto the Holy One, the sa- 
crifice of fools. 

And we may in this place be allowed, while 
insisting on the absolute necessity of a right spi- 
ritual frame in the private duties of religion, to 
offer a word of counsel to the young on some of 
the means by which it may be promoted. Have 
your hour which you will permit no trivial mat- 
ter to disturb : have your place of sacred retreat, 
in which, habit will revive wonted associations : 
have the same Bible, of which the very pages will 
be familiar to your eye : read in course, that you 
may derive the full benefit of that revelation which 
God hath given to man. The sacred volume con- 
tains all theology delivered in the best style : it 
contains all morality delivered in the form most 
applicable to our condition : it presents such views 
of human nature and society as will best qualify 
you to deal fairly with the one, and to pass se- 
curely through the other : and it alone contains 
true notification of that invisible world upon 
which we shall shortly enter and for which it 



251 



teaches us to prepare. It is indeed the Word of 
God ; and when you retire to worship and com- 
mune with Godj His Word revealed, must take the 
precedence of every other book. Much has been 
written by godly and learned men that may con- 
tribute to the edification of the Christian; the 
field of sacred literature is ample and productive, 
and in this reading age, no intelligent Christian 
will neglect it ; but sinful suppliants coming 
into the immediate presence of the Eternal one 
should bring with them there nothing save his 
own book ; their fingers, should be upon its pro- 
mises ; their prayers should be offered in its 
words; their hopes should be brightened with 
its visions ; the fire upon their altar should be 
borrowed thence ; and their soul rising to the 
throne will then, in the assurance of being 
heard say: "0 send forth thy light and thy 
truth : let them lead me : let them bring me 
unto thy holy hill, and to thy tabernacles. 
Then will I go unto the altar of God, unto God 
my exceeding joy: yea, upon ihe harp will I 
praise thee, God, my God. Why art thou cast 
down, my soul? and why art thou disquieted 
within me ? Hope in God ; for I shall yet praise 
him, loho is the health of my countenance, and 
my God." 

And if this union of the external with the spi- 
ritual be essential in the private exercises of reli- 
gion ; it is not less necessary in the public. 

But here again let me remind you, that the 



worship of the sanctuary — that homagie which 
we here present unto God, must be spiritual, — 
and that, time, place, attitude, and ritual are no 
more than its external expressions, and owe theiiJ 
whole truth and significancy to their harmony 
with the inward frames. Hence in entering 
within the sanctuary, to present homage unto God, 
our affections must be in unison with the duty. 
The presiding Deity must fill the soul— as he fills 
the temple : a vagrant thought — ^a sinful, even a 
languid aifection, is inconsistent with the sinner's 
position, and is a desecration of the holy place. 
How is it that this statement should seem over- 
strained and impracticable— as if it were beyond 
the power of man thus to bring his whole soul, 
and mind, and strength into the exercises of his 
religion — into the worship of his God? Just be- 
cause, we have too seldom experienced what it 
is to have the heart engaged in it, for the heart 
will assuredly control the thoughts. Let an office- 
seeker be admitted into the presence of royal- 
ty to sue only for bread ; far more, let a culprit be 
admitted into the presence of royalty to sue for 
life, and all the splendours of royalty would be 
unheeded; the attendants however gorgeously 
arrayed would not attract even a momentary re- 
gard ; the more solemn regalia of the throne, or 
the shoutings of the out-door crowd, would not 
draw for a moment the eye of the suppliant from 
the eye of the monarch on whose nod so much 
depended : — the heat filled with its own fears 



253 



and hopes, would hang on the power that could 
dispel its fears and gratify its hopes. And why- 
should it be otherwise in the presence of the Ma- 
jesty of Heaven? — Are not His glories, though disf- 
coverable only by faith, enough to entrance our 
faculties ? Are not our own wants — repairing to 
him for redress— enough to arrest every thought 
upon him who can supply them ? Are not the 
blessings we ask of value sufficient to absorb 
the whole attention of him that asks in the pre- 
sence of Him that can confer them? — Oh, be assur- 
ed, whenever the intellect apprehends and the 
heart feels the glories of the Creator, and its own 
undone and miserable condition, it can not but 
possess the affections out of which a true spirit- 
ual worship will spring : it will be able then to 
worship God in spirit and in truth. 

But the worship of the sanctuary is not only 
spiritual, it is social, united and public, and, 
therefore, requires more distinctly an outward 
expression adapted to this character. When we 
enter into the house of God we do not worship 
solitary and apart ; we do not appear individu- 
ally, but as a company of worshippers — filled 
with the same thoughts, actuated with the same 
sentiments, involved in the same ruin, praying 
for the same grace. It becomes us, therefore, if 
we would act consistently with the design of 
public worship, to keep this in view ; we must not 
only bring to the sanctuary the spiritual frame, 
but that frame must be maintained in suitable 



w 



254 



accordance with a similar frame in the bosom of 
those who are met together to worship God. 

Now this is cherished and maintained in the 
sanctuary by means of those external expressions 
in which, by Divine appointment, the inward, 
frames and feelings are represented. 

The sanctuary in which we assemble is the 
holy place, and if we are indeed animated with 
suitable sentiments, every thing in our carriage 
and attitude will bespeak our veneration, as we 
enter upon holy ground. Of the outward signs of 
religious veneration in the sacred place, it has been 
remarked, and perhaps justly, that Presbyterians 
are much less regardful than the members of the 
Roman or the Anglican Churches. We have 
doubtless done right in laying aside all supersti- 
tious formalities — all will worship at variance with 
the simplicity of the Gospel of Christ. We have 
no kneelings in the vestibule : no genuflections 
before altars and images, for altars and images 
we have none. But we have a " real presence" 
in the most spiritual and sublime sense in which 
the human mind can conceive of it — for God 
dwelleth in the holy place — the place where His 
name is recorded; where He has promised to 
meet his people, and where that promise is daily 
fulfilled. May we not ask, then, for this place a 
humble, reverent, grateful, suppliant mind, and 
every thin^ in the external deportment that may 
suitably express these affections ^ In the degree 
in which they are felt, we shall witness the grave 



255 



and serious demeanor ; and all those conventional 
observances by which we are wont to denote 
the profoundest homage and reverence. Now we 
may note as at variance with the thoughtfulness 
and decorum which should ever be the compan- 
ions of true piety, the bold march and the mirth- 
like entrance into the house of prayer ; the very 
obvious occupation of the mind with surrounding 
objects, instead of its concentration upon the 
unseen and spiritual ; a regarding of the religious 
exercises as spectators and listeners, and not as 
fellow-worshippers of the same omnipresent 
Being ; the manifestation of a weariness which 
the unconcerned will ever feel, however success- 
fully good manners may enable them to conceal 
it, and where good manners are wanting it is 
not at all concealed ; the hasty rush to depart so 
soon as the moment of release has arrived, and 
then the quick and entire dismissal of every hal- 
lowed thought from the remembrance. All these, 
indeed, are manifest symptoms of a mind not pre- 
pared to worship God in spirit and in truth, and in- 
stead of dealing with the offender as if he were 
chargeable only with a breach of decorum, we 
should rather deal with him as one that had incur- 
red the deep guilt of profaning the sanctuary of God, 
treating with irreverence the solemnities of His 
house, and despising the only means by which the 
sinner may obtain salvation. The surest rectifi- 
cation of his outward indecency will be the rec- 
tification of his. inward impiety. Let him learn 



256 



to worship in spirit and in truth, and all things 
wiirbe done decently and in order. 

But we may particularly invitey our attention to 
the union of the external with the spiritual, in two 
of the chief exercises of the sanctuaiy — praise and 
prayer. 

By the positive command of God, praise is to 
be presented to him in the holy place in song and 
harmony ; — this is the outward expression of re- 
verence, gratitude and love in the bosom of the 
worshipper. These emotions may exist where 
they are not expressed by the individual himself ; 
but in public worship which is also social and 
nnited, it is the manifest intention of the author 
of our religion that there should be a general and 
audible union in this sacred exercise. Nature 
has given to man the gift of harmony, and by 
proper culture all, with only a few exceptions, 
may be instructed to bear a part in the chorus of 
our common hymn. For music is a natural ex- 
pression of the deepest and tenderest, and holiest 
of our emotions ; and he who hath adapted his 
worship to our frame hath embraced it in the ser- 
vice of the sanctuary for giving utterance to an 
united homage and adoration. It belongs to us, 
therefore, to cultivate and employ the faculty in 
this its noblest use ; to rise above vulgar pre- 
judices and bring in science for the assistance of 
nature, even as we seek grace to sanctify it : and 
although our sacred music, like the souls that 
pour it forth, may still be marred by discor- 



257 



dant notes, it may yet be the hand-maid of piety, 
and aid the preparation of the worshipper for a 
loftier and more perfect song. 

And as to the union of the external with the 
internal in prayer, which in the sanctuary is also 
a social and united exercise, it becomes us to 
yield an earnest and undivided sympathy and 
desire with him who offers our common suppli- 
cation unto God in behalf of all our fellow-sup- 
plicants. The advocates of strict liturgical forms 
in public worship object that this cannot be done 
in our methods of extemporary prayer. But 
while we may freely admit that prescribed forms 
of public prayer have some advantages, and that 
some combinatioQ of the liturgical with the free 
might greatly improve the order of our public 
service, especially by promoting a more entire 
unity of spirit in the devotional services of the sanc- 
tuary, yet,we also on our part claim the admission, 
that the devout spirit can easily blend with another 
in offering its supplications at a throne of grace ; 
that the matter of prayer however diversified, must 
be pervaded so much with the same sentiments, 
that a person well read in holy scripture will 
rarely need to pause in giving an immediate and 
hearty response, for so rapid are the aspirations of 
a truly devout spirit, that in an instant, and with- 
out intermitting an entire devotional sympathy 
with his fellow supplicants, he can imbue the au- 
dible prayer, with the complexion of his own 
^tate and wants, so that the common prayer 

W2 



258 



will also be peculiarly his own. The spirit of 
grace and supplication that descends from God 
has one origin, one character, and essentially 
the same end ; and whatever may be the diver- 
sities of individual mind in the family of God, 
they are identical in their feelings, wants and 
desires at the foot-stool of his Throne. 

And in connexion with this subject, we may 
be permitted to remark, that the Christian reli- 
gion from its pure, spiritual character has not 
enjoined and cannot admit many externals in the 
celebration of its worship. On this point, while 
all scripture abounds with the delineations of the 
Christian temper, very little has been delivered 
concerning the mere ritualism of Christian wor- 
ship. No order of service is clearly and positive- 
ly prescribed — no forms of prayer — no compi- 
lations of music — no ceremonial. In all these 
matters the Church would seem to be left free 
to frame such an order, in harmony with its 
sacred design, as shall tend most for edification 
according to the manner and spirit of the age. 
On this ground the Church of Rome, and also 
the Church of England, have exercised the right 
of prescribing a liturgy and ordaining ceremonies, 
that is, external forms which are supposed to be, 
either the expressions of an inward spiritual 
frame, or calculated to awaken and sustain it. 
Hence the images and paintings ; the processions 
and prostrations ; the wax candles and holy 



259 



water ; the clerical vestments and scenic repre- 
sentations in which the Romish worship abounds, 
and which some adhering to the Anglican, would 
wish to imitate. Now, let it be admitted that the 
Church is left in freedom to frame its ritual, and 
that the matters to which we have adverted are 
indifferent in themselves, that is, provided only 
the temper of the worshipper be sincere and 
spiritual, it matters little whether there be images 
and pictures in the Church ; whether there be can- 
dles burning upon the altar ; what may be the 
cut and colour of the priest's vestments, or the 
turnings and flexions in which he may indulge ; 
and provided also the fundamentals of sacred 
truth, with humility, love and contrition, be in the 
soul, — the mere externals to which we have ad- 
verted might be deemed matters of indifference, 
or might even, as some think, by habit and asso- 
ciation, assist that spirituality of which they are 
alleged to be the emblems. Yet is it, neverthe- 
less, an undoubted fact in regard to all the ope- 
rations of the soul, that every thing which is ad- 
dressed to the mere outward sense has a tendency 
to disturb them; and that the multiplication of rites 
and ceremonies in religion has always tended to 
the extinguishment of its vitality. Even within 
the Romish Church which spares no pains to 
make them gorgeous and attractive, the enlight- 
ened renounce them as insipid puerilities ; and 
the vulgar frequent them as a species of holy-day 
recreations. Thus the grand design of the worship 



260 



of the Christian Church, as an institution for con- 
ducting the soul to communion with God, and pre- 
paration for its own destiny, is lost sight of, under 
an over-burdened ritualism, which veils alike 
from intellect and faith the realities which are 
invisible and eternal. 

And if it be objected that the austere churches 
of the reformation have run into the other and 
opposite extreme — that we have treated religion 
too much as a thing of pure intellec"^ cold, sha- 
dowy, and unapproachable by ordinary men ; 
that in rejecting magnificent edifices we have 
rejected that which tends naturally to fill the mind 
with solemnity and awe ; that in banishing paint- 
ing and sculpture from our churches, we have 
cast aside the symbols with which imagination 
might associate the recollections of historic truth 
and memorable personages ; that in the discoun- 
tenancing of instrumental and choral music, we 
have ceased to avail ourselves of that which has 
a powerful influence in soothing and composing 
the soul to a frame congenial with religious exer- 
cises ; that in limiting the services to a very sim- 
ple order, and to one officiating minister, who 
cares little about the vestments in which he is 
arrayed, we do not avail ourselves as we might 
of man's natural love of sensuous ornament and 
variety — we admit all these consequences, and 
without asserting that we have not erred in the 
extreme opposite to Romanism, or that we have 
duly adapted our ritual to man as a being endued 



261 



with sensuous tastes as well as intellect and 
moi'al emotion, yet we claim for the simple ritual 
of the church to which we belong, that it is not 
unmeet for the sublimity of its spiritual design ; 
that if we have little to attract the outward sense, 
we have nought to distract the soul from the con- 
templation of things unseen, and that in so far as 
we aim at combining scriptural instruction with 
spiritual emotion, we act conformably to the Word 
of Grod, and the moral constitution of our species. 
In our retirement from the ancient communion, 
we have indeed discarded its sensuous and 
pompous ritual : the old casket with the childish 
ornaments that superstition had enchased upon it, 
we have left behind with many other corruptions 
of the true worship and faith ; but we claim to 
have brought out before the eyes of men, the 
heavenly jewel which it concealed, and in the 
use of its songs and prayers, and in the reading 
and ^exposition of its doctrines, we hope to be 
made partakers of a divine nature, through the 
knowledge of Him who hath called us to glory 
and virtue. 

Be entreated then to remember that this is the 
true end of all that is external or ritual in reli- 
gion — to give expression to an existing piety, or 
to awaken and kindle it. If this end be not 
attained, we may have the form of godliness, but 
we are destitute of the power of that inward life 
which comes from and connects us with its 
eternal author. It must spring from reflection, 



262 



and be watered with prayer. It must shed its 
light on faith, and its purity on hope. It must 
give power and reality, even to the imperfect 
services of the lower sanctuary, while it conducts 
the believer onward to the heavenly. 



THE RELIGION OF FEELING. 



THE RELIGION OF FEELING. 



My son give me thy heart — Proverbs xxiii. 26. 

It is sometimes alleged against Protestantism 
in general, and against our own division of it 
in particular, that, in matters of religion, it is 
without feeling, sentiment, and taste ; that it is 
too much occupied with the contemplation, and 
investigation of dogmatic mysteries ; and relies 
too litde upon the simple and implicit faith of its 
adherents ; that in its fatile and misdirected 
endeavours to present before the multitude a 
reason for every thing, the faculties of knowledge 
are exercised at the expense of the faculties of 
feeling, and that the result is a cold and dry 
orthodoxy — destitute of those purer and more 
elevated emotions, which can never be separated 
from the religion of the heart. 

It must be admitted, we fear, that the charge 
is not quite groundless in reference to our own 
community — for aiming as we do at a practical 
correction, we need not at present extend our 
view beyond our own community. We have quite 
enough every where, at least within established 
and well-ordered Churches, of the means of 

X 



266 



varied instruction in Christian doctrine ; the 
press, too, in later times has become a powerful 
auxiliary of the pulpit ; and among the thoughtful 
and well-educated, there is diffused a full and 
accurate knowledge of scriptural truth. Within 
our own Church in the present day, evangelical 
doctrine is not only faithfully expounded, but is 
held in favour. Its well compacted demonstra- 
tions, level to the apprehensions of all who will 
attentively listen to them, have gained for them 
a firm hold upon the convictions of our people ; 
and any very palpable divergence from our estab- 
lished standards on the part of a public teacher, 
would call forth a very general and speedy rebuke. 
Our Church retains her standards, our people 
know them, and are little disposed to tolerate 
the deviations of rash and undisciplined minds. 
Even the language in which it has been usually 
expressed is endeared by hallowed associations, 
and the serious among us desire not only 
the sound doctrine, but the sound speech that 
cannot be condemned. So far. this may be 
admitted, and so far it is well. 

But all this may be, and yet there may also be 
solid ground for the charge that the intellectual 
apprehension constitutes nearly the whole amount 
of our religion, and that the affections of the 
heart enter into it only in a small and imperfect 
degree. Of this we may become fully conscious 
by examining the effect of a few of the funda- 
mental articles of our creed upon our own hearts, 



267 



within the few last hours. Thus, in reference to 
the worship of God in his House, on this hallowed 
day, we profess to believe, that the Divine Majesty- 
is really present to receive our homage ; that 
God is as certainly in this assembly as He is in 
heaven ; that He knows the spiritual preparation 
of every worshipper with unerring precision ; 
that our meeting here is worse than vain, it is 
sinful, if we come not up hither with sincerity 
and humility ; we profess to come up hither, not 
only that we may present our homage unto God, 
but that we may obtain from Him blessings of 
inestimable value — the grace of penitence, the 
forgiveness of our sins, those sacred influences 
that will make us partakers of a divine nature. 
This is our belief, and this is our professed 
object when we come up to the house of God. 
Now our creed is undeniably right. But we need 
only review the history of these few last hours 
that we may discover how little our feeling has 
been in accordance with our creed in regard to the 
design of public worship as a solemn and social 
approach to the mercy-seat of our Heavenly 
Father. Be it, that in solitary prayer, we have 
for some moments sought to bring ourselves into 
a right frame for the duties of the day ; be it, that 
in so far as we had power to direct social con- 
verse we made it bear upon the spiritual wants 
and necessities of man, and of our own ; be it, 
that as we passed along the streets, we endea- 
voured to hold our attention fast upon the object 



268 



of the sacred duties in which we were to be 
engaged when we crossed the threshold of the 
sanctuary ; yet, without adverting to interruptions 
and unsuccessfulness without, may we not dis- 
cover in the state of our heart since we entered 
within these walls, enough to substantiate the 
charge against ourselves that the state of our 
feeling has been in two little accordance with the 
duties which we come hither to discharge. We 
came hither to adore the eternal Jehovah, but 
have our souls been prostrate and absorbed with 
reverence ? we came hither to confess our sins, 
but have our souls been filled with penitential 
sadness ? we came hitherto ask mercy to pardon, 
and grace to help us, but have we sought these 
blessings with a vehemence of desire proportion- 
ate to their value ? Ah no ! our own hearts con- 
demn us. We readily acknowledge, perhaps we 
feel, that our hearts have not been right before 
God ; that truth, though understood and confessed 
by us, has not been accompanied in any 
suitable degree with the affections which it should 
awaken. In terms of the charge against us, our 
religion is more a thing of the understanding than 
of the heart. 

Now in the face of that general orthodoxy to 
which we have laid claim, it must be obvious 
that there is an utter and radical deficiency in 
such a religious condition. To know the truth, 
to believe the truth, is in scripture phrase to feel 
it J and every w^here throughout the sacred oracles 



269 



the religious affections are made to occupy the 
foreground in the delineation of that new life to 
which the gospel is designed to raise us. The 
spiritual disease with which our species is affected 
is constantly represented to be in the heart, that 
is, in our moral powers and affections, and that 
sad truth is held forth under the clearest and most 
impressive imagery. Thus, " the thoughts of 
the imagination of men's hearts are evil from their 
youth up, and that continually." " The heart is 
deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked 
who can know it ?" It is described, as a stony 
heart, callous and insensible ; alienated from 
the life of God through its hardness, an evil heart 
of unbelief prone to depart from God ; it is the 
temple of God, but now defiled and deserted, 
dead in trespasses and in sins. Accordingly the 
whole economy of redemption is framed with the 
view of regenerating the heart, the seat of that 
moral distemper with which our species is 
afflicted. Under a variety of expressions, its 
declared design is " to take the stony heart out of 
our flesh, and to give us hearts of flesh" — " to 
create within us clean hearts, and to renew 
within us right spirits" — " to prepare the soul for 
an everlasting habitation of God." In conformity 
with this design, the tenor of its admonitions 
are, my son, give me thine heart; — believe, 
for with the heart man believeth unto righte- 
ousness ; — thou shalt love the Lord thy God 
with all thy heart, for love is the fulfilling of the 
3^2 



m 

law. It is evident, therefore, that resting in the 
mere knowledge of religion, however sound and 
scriptural that knowledge may be, is to stop 
short of religion itself. For all knowledge of 
things divine and spiritual, communicated in the 
revelation by Jesus Christ, is intended to act not 
only upon the understanding, but upon the heart. 
Failing in this last point, it comes short of its 
main design. It is still light, but light shining 
upon the dead, communicating no excellence, 
guiding to no activity, inspiring no joy. The 
kingdom of God may have come in word, 
but not in power, nor in righteousness and peace, 
and joy in the Holy Ghost. 

This is that state of very defective religious 
attainment so prevalent among us which is pro- 
perly called formality. It is a very different thing 
from hypocrisy, and may exist in one who is 
possessed with an utter abhorence of that vice. 
Hypocrisy leads a man to pretend to be what 
he is not. Formality makes no such pretention. 
It is nothing more than the conviction of truth 
somehow counteracted in its proper influence 
upon the moral affections ; it is the observance of 
religious duties, without any proper degree of 
religious feeling, it is a drawing near to God 
with the lip, while the heart is far from 
Him. The person in this state of spiritual 
apathy knows it, may be very ready to con- 
fess it, — nay, he may be greatly distressed on 
account of it. Reflecting upon the odiousness of 



$71 

such insensibility in the sight of God, who 
require th all who worship Him to worship Him 
in spirit and in truth, the formalist may often 
retire from the sanctuary with bitter self reproach, 
not because he is hypocritical, for he is not, but 
because in an atmosphere of light and of spiritu- 
ality his affections have been little moved with 
those views of God, and of Christ, and of himself, 
which were clear enough though to him unim- 
pressive. Describing his own state, he may say, 
I understood the truth presented to me, but I did 
not feel it ; I wished to feel, but my paralysied 
affections would not obey the wish ; and I retired 
from the ordinances which I deemed it dutiful to 
observe, with a very serious conviction that I 
ought to have observed them in a very different 
frame from that which I had attained. 

Such, we fear, is the too frequent experience of 
multitudes to whom the state of theiy affections 
in religious duties is matter of frequent and 
serious consideration. They are conscious that 
the spiriual distemper with which they are op- 
pressed is seated, where the scriptures have 
revealed it, in the heart. And every new effort 
and every new examination, serves to convince 
them that there is no part of our nature less 
under our own controul. We cannot hate, or 
love, or mourn, or rejoice, either at the bidding 
of another, or by an act of our own will. These 
states of mind, and indeed all states into which 
emotion enters, are not dependant upon mere 



272 



volition, but upon our vivid apprehension of those 
circumstances or objects which are fitted to pro- 
duce them, acting upon a sensibility prepared for 
the impression. The union of these two condi- 
tions must obtain, in every instance, where a 
religious emotion is excited. Thus, is it sorrow 
for sin ? In order to it, there must not only be a 
just apprehension of its nature, as a transgression 
of the law of God, but that peculiar tenderness 
of heart, which will cause such an apprehension 
to melt the soul into contrition and sorrow. Is it 
love to Christ ? In order to it, there must not 
only be an apprehension of Him as the fairest 
among ten thousand and the altogether lovely — 
but there must also be that state of the heart, that 
holy sensibility to excellence which shall prepare 
it to be affected by the contemplation. Between 
this intellectual apprehension and this spiritual 
sensibility there exists the same sort of relation 
as that observed in the recent and curious dis- 
covery by which we axe enabled, to render perma- 
nent the image of an object brightly reflected 
upon a prepared surface. In vain we cast the 
shadow of the object upon the plate if it be not pre- 
pared ; though it falls upon it in perfect outline, it 
vanishes the moment the reflection is withdrawn. 
While on the prepared plate the image is not 
only formed, but fixed ; it is no longer dependant 
upon the art that produced it, it becomes itself a 
separately existing and permanent reality, which 
in all future time will bring up to our re mem- 



273 



brance the beloved countenance or object from 
which it was borrowed. So is it with every 
intellectual apprehension of truth that falls upon 
the unprepared and the prepared heart. In the 
former case it makes little or no impression — it 
produces no deep or permanent feeling. The 
idea of truth — of truth revealed — may be clear 
. and distinct enough, it maybe framed into a very 
harmonious and orthodox creed, it may be em- 
bellished by fancy and taste, supported by 
erudition and philosophy, and yet, after all it 
may be nothing more than an idea — a mere 
shadow of divine realities, implanting no moral 
principle, sustaining no moral affection, vanish- 
ing even as a dream when one awaketh. This 
is the true cause of formality — of religious observ- 
ance without religious feeling — so prevalent 
among Christians. Truth is apprehended with 
sufficient clearness, it is confessed with sufficient 
honesty. When standing in its light we are con- 
strained to acknowledge that it streams from 
heaven, but the unprepared heart, hardened by 
sin, engrossed with worldly care, allured by 
worldly pleasure, filled with foolish lusts and 
passions, receives from it no permanent impres- 
sion — as the morning cloud and as the early dew 
it passeth away. But on the other hand when 
the heart is prepared by divine grace, when the 
spiritual sensibility is awakened which sin has 
well nigh extinguished, when it has become like 
that of Lydia, " v/hose heart the Lord opened, 



274 



that she attended unto the things which were 
spoken of Paul," or like that of Peter, whom a 
single look of his master, in an hour of saddest 
backsliding, melted into penitence and tears ; or 
like that of the disciples walking with their risen 
Lord on the road to Emmaus, when they exclaim- 
ed with wonder and joy, " Did not our hearts 
burn within us, while He walked with us by the 
way, and while He opened to us the scriptures ?" 
or as on the day of Pentecost, when the thousands, 
who heard the gospel, " being pricked in their 
hearts, cried, men and brethren, what shall we 
do?" — then, on hearts thus prepared by a 
sacred influence from heaven, divine truth pro- 
duces a permanent impression ; it communicates 
a new life ; it awakens and it sustains a new set 
of affections — the moral, the spiritual, the heaven- 
ly ; and though in this present evil world, they 
may be subject to many fluctuations in their 
intensity, they are preserved and nourished by 
the power that produced them until in death 
the believer has obtained the victory through 
our Lord Jesus Christ. 

We have ascribed, you will observe, the feeble 
impression which divine truth makes, even upon 
those who are persuaded of its heavenly origin, 
to that insensibility which sin has brought upon 
our moral powers — and, to expose our own im- 
potence in the correction of the evil, we have 
asserted that the heart is just that part of our 
nature which is least under our own controul, and 



275 



therefore, least under the influence of cuUure by 
our own unaided efforts. We cannot reason 
it into sensibility — we cannot make a man feel 
by an argumentative demonstration, though we 
may carry his convictions. The seat of feeling 
must be reached by a finer process, by a weapon 
of keener edge, if it be reached at all. In regard 
to natural objects, sensibility is the gift of nature ; 
in regard to spiritual objects — it is the gift of grace. 
Thus, one will gaze upon the grand and beautiful 
in creation without the slightest emotion, while 
another standing by his side and gazing on the 
same scenery, will be wrapt in an ecstacy of 
wonder and admiration. It will be vain to point 
out to the former the peculiar objects by which 
the other is moved, in the hope that he also will 
be moved, for he is destitute of that peculiar 
susceptibility out of which these emotions spring. 
Employing in reference to taste, words that in 
scripture are used only in reference to a change 
in our spirit\ial nature, we may say of the dull 
and unmoved spectator of natural scenery that " a 
new heart" must be given, 

" Ere the sun, the stars, the earth, the skiep, 
To him be opening paradise." 

But the other is moved at once, without reasoning 
or by a process so rapid and delicate that it cannot 
be detected. Within him there is a capacity of 
being affected at once and deeply by the qualities 
contemplated, and though this capacity may be 
improved, it is originally the gift of nature. Now 



276 



while we say that the susceptibility of being 
moved by the grand and beautiful, is the gift of 
nature ; we say that the susceptibility of being 
moved, in a high and permanent degree, by 
things spiritual, divine, and heavenly, is the 
gift of grace. Man in his original was created 
with it ; it was lost in his apostacy, and in no 
case can it be recovered, except through that 
supernatural agency which in the scheme of our 
redemption has been brought into play. " Mar- 
vel not," saith Jesus, " that I said unto you, ye 
must be born again — ye must be renewed in 
the spirit of your mind ; ye must have those 
moral capacities restored which sin has para- 
lyzed ; ye must have that sensibility quickened 
which sin has extinguished ; ye must be raised 
again to that spiritual minded ness, in which ye 
will be affected by things spiritual with the 
clearness and rapidity of intuition. All these 
things are promised in that covenant of redem- 
tion which has been proclaimed to our world. 
" I will give them one heart, and I will put a 
new spirit within you ; and I will take the stony 
heart out of their flesh, and I will give them an 
heart of flesh ; that they may walk in my sta- 
tutes, and keep mine ordinances and do them ; 
and they shall be my people and I will be their 
God." 

Here then, and by this means, we must seek 
the correction of that evil which so widely pre- 
vail among us — a heart too little moved with the 



277 



truths and objects presented to our faith. It is 
our privilege, — we are invited to come unto 
the throne of heavenly grace to ask a clean 
heart and a right spirit. It is the gift of Grod — 
-it is the work of his spirit in its origin, progress 
and maturity. The gift is conferred upon the 
Jiumble suppliant and the work is carried on 
in connexion with that system of means, which 
has been established in the kingdom of grace. 
AH experience testifies that the liveliness of spi- 
ritual affection in the believer depends not upon 
himself, but upon that in-dwelling paraclete, to 
whom the whole work of our moral renovation 
has been confided. And no view of the plan 
of our redemption is more grand and consola- 
tory, than that which represents this omnipresent 
agent, seut forth by the mediator into our sinful 
world, seeking to find a lodgement in every soul, 
to whom the words of salvation have been sent ; 
urging, after long resistance, his right of admis- 
sion, and though long grieved unwilling to take 
a final departure ; and within every soul in which 
he hath found entertainment, plying his energy 
until it is brought to will and to do according to 
the good pleasure of God. Then will such a one 
be endued with that tenderness of sensibility, 
which results from the new life to which he is 
begotten ; and every emotion which the objects 
of his faith is fitted to awaken, will be readily 
awakened at all times when they are brought 
fully within the reach of his contemplation. 

T 



278 



Permit me then, to exhort you to seek at a 
throne of grace those spiritual influences, that 
you may be capable of advancing to the higher 
attainments to which, as Christians, you are 
called. Here alone they are to be found, and 
here they will never be sought in vain. The 
Romanist, indeed, to whose objections against 
our simple forms of worship, and our doctrinal 
teaching, we adverted in the beginning of this 
discourse, — advises, if not a different course, yet 
various aids, of which no notice is given in Scrip- 
ture, and which were unknown in primitive 
times. He seeks to act upon the affections 
through the senses, and calls in the eniployment of 
tasteful arts as the handmaid of piety. To excite 
the sensibilities he presents by picture or image 
those incidents in the life of Christ, or in the his- 
tory of martyrs and confessors, which may assist 
the conceptions of the spectator, and awaken his 
sympathies. But this contrivance is not only 
without scriptural warrant — it jars with the very 
object it proposes to aid. No pictorial image 
can represent spiritual things — and it is the spiri- 
tual attributes of the Saviour's history to which it 
owes its most impressive grandeur. These are 
in their very nature indefinite ; no sensible image 
can be made of them ; they are too grand even 
for our loftiest conceptions ; they are objects of 
emotion rather than of intellect, as all the most 
sublime objects are, and above all the infinite. 
We are brought then, even by these natural prin- 



«79 



ciples, to the very point to which the Scriptures 
lead us, that all religious worship depends upon 
sensibility of heart, and not in any great degree 
upon external adjuncts, and that this right state 
of the heart depends upon a communicated grace, 
to be sought and found at that throne to which 
we are invited as suppliants to repair, not once 
or rarely, but in every time of need. The efficacy 
of all the means appointed to fan and cherish the 
religious affections will depend on our continu- 
ance and fervency in prayer, for faithful prayer 
never returns without its blessing. Before the 
throne of mercy the religious affections are called 
into liveliest exercise, for there we come into the 
closest fellowship with the Father of our spirits, 
attainable by man upon the earth ; and there we 
are encouraged to hope for those divine assistan- 
ces in the richest measure, which shall bring the 
soul into its purest and happiest frame. In the 
light that surrounds it we obtain the clearest and 
most impressive views both of time and of 
eternity ; and we only need to walk in that light, 
in order to banish the complaint of an imperfect 
apprehension of spiritual things, — of which the 
blind man restored to sight was an emblem, when 
he said in the first moments of his recovery, " I 
see men as trees walking." 



CHRIST— IN HIM WAS LIFE. 



t8 



CHRIST— IN HIM WAS LIFE. 



In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, 
and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with 
God. All things were made by him ; and without him was not 
any thing made that was made. In him was life ; and the life 
was the light of mea — John 1. 1 — 4. 

The beloved disciple commences his history 
of his master with the declaration of the eternity 
of his existence, his co-eternal identity with the 
godhead, his personal divinity, his creative 
power — the source of life, and in particular of that 
higher form of life, which is here called " the 
light of men" — the original and peculiar dignity 
of our nature, intelligence, rectitude of Will, 
holiness, communion with God, and happiness 
in his favour. The divine Word was the 
author of these in the original creation of man. 
" By him, God created the world. He is be- 
fore all things, and by him all things con- 
sist." But in the opening of this gospel we 
may rather understand the words of the text, 
as expressive of the life-giving power of Christ 
in the new creation — the restoration of the 
soul from ignorance, sin and misery, to the new 
life of righteousness. Everywhere in sacred 



284 



scripture, Christ is represented as the author of 
this redemption, through that mediatorial eco- 
nomy, of which he himself is the Head. Man, 
apostate and depraved, had provoked the indig- 
nation of eternal justice ; — Christ by the sacrifice 
of himself satisfied its claim. Man, apostate and 
depraved, is without strength to resist the domi- 
nion of appetite, and to restore himself to the com- 
prehension, choice and love of spiritual good ; — 
the eternal Word communicates a new energy, 
and " the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus 
makes him free from the law of sin and death." 
Man, apostate and depraved, had lost the inheri- 
tance of everlasting life ; Christ purchased anew 
the right and bestows it on the redeemed as a 
free gift. The salvation of man, therefore, is as 
much His sole and undivided work, as was his 
creation. And the setting forth of this funda- 
mental truth was entitled to a preliminary place 
in the history of the Redeemer's incarnate and 
mediatorial sojourn upon earth. " Ye believe in 
God, believe also in me" — in me — " the bright- 
ness of his glory and the express image of his 
person" — in me, the source of life and salvation 
to man. Through my mediation the eternal 
Divinity condescends to body forth, in a manner 
level to your enfeebled capacities, the infinite 
and the incomprehensible ; and whosoever seek- 
eth to know the Father must behold him in " the 
only begotten, full of grace and truth." This is 
the true God and eternal life ; the true light 



m5 

which conducteth to glory, honor, and immor- 
tality. 

The illustration of that life of which the text 
speaks is attended with some peculiar difficulties. 
We cannot well explain, or comprehend anything 
spiritual beyond the measure of our own actual 
attainment. The divine life, as life in every 
other form, to be understood must be enjoyed. 
If then, we should not yet have entered upon it, 
or proceeded beyond its merest infancy, we can- 
not be prepared to comprehend fully its nature, 
and however appropriately illustrated, it will still 
to us be enveloped in obscurity. 

Meditation on such a theme may, however, 
answer some important ends, even to those who 
are strangers to the life of God. It may serve 
to discover to them their deficiency — that they 
are destitute of its characteristic activities and 
enjoyments ; it may enable them to discern, as 
through a glass darkly, its surpassing excellencies, 
and may awaken desires that shall move them to 
seek after it. In so far as these ends shall be 
answered, our meditations shall not be in vain. 

That this subject may be presented to you in 
its simplest form — we pray you to keep in view 
the ideas associated with that mode of life which 
is most familiar to us— the natural or physical 
The most striking of its phenomena, are motion, 
sensation, and a power resisting dissolution — or 
all the influences that are adverse to the living 
structure, or the living power. 



286 



Motion, or the power of motion, one of the 
characteristics of the living being, appears in that 
series of vital actions which man never ceases 
to perform until he ceases to live. They are 
infinitely varied, as the circumstances, pursuits, 
and employments of mankind — all the activities 
of the individual and of society result from them. 
When in the silence of night man seeks repose 
from the busy labors of the day, and when he is 
buried in sleep, unconscious of all that is passing 
around him, he still exhibits numerous symptoms 
of the living power. His limbs indeed are 
motionless, his senses are so locked up that he 
has no communication with surrounding objects ; 
even the faculty of thought is quiescent, or at- 
tempts nothing more than a few struggling and 
irregular efforts in dreams. But amidst all this 
repose of the limb, this eclipse of the mind, we 
discover unequivocal evidences of life. The 
breast heaves with respiration — the blood throbs 
in its channels — the numerous bodily organs are 
fulfilling their functions in silence, and the whole 
frame, by this partial repose, is acquiring fresh 
vigor for the activities of the coming day. Awake 
or asleep, motion endlessly diversified, is one of 
the essential characteristics of life. It is a 
result of the living power — but who can explain 
where or what that power is ? 

Again, sensation is another essential characte- 
ristic of the living being. Whatever lives feels — 
consciousness, pain, pleasure, are inseparable 



287 



from life. It is true, we sometimes see them for 
a brief space suspended. In sleep, or in a faint, 
or in some peculiar diseases, a person may remain 
for a while utterly insensible. But this cannot 
continue long. In such states there is a struggle 
going on between the vital power and something 
inimical to it. One or other must soon triumph. 
If sensibility be not soon restored, it will soon be 
extinguished by death — for all observation testi- 
fies, that when it has for a length of time ceased 
to manifest itself, life has ceased. 

One other remarkable and essential characte- 
ristic of life is resistance to decay or decomposition. 
So long as there is vital power in an animal body, 
it will not putrify. Changes of heat and cold, of 
moist and dry, within the limits compatible with 
life, do not affect it. But the moment that life 
depart from the body, it begins to be resolved into 
its constituent elements. It is corroded by its 
own juices. It becomes subject to the same laws 
which affect inanimate matter. The air that 
formerly nourished, corrupts it; the heat, formerly 
necessary to it, hasten its decay. And within 
a short period the entire structure is broken up, 
and its parts mingle with other bodies and dis- 
appear. The vital power which resisted disso- 
lution, and held them together is gone. But 
who can tell what that power is, or on what it 
immediately depends? Is it not directly on 
God ? 

We have directed your attention to these char- 



288 



acteristics of animal life, to point out that we 
know nothing of its cause ; that in describing it, 
we only enumerate its leading phenomena ; we 
say that it is that power in the animal body 
which originates motion, sensation, and resistance 
to those influences which tend to destroy the 
corporeal structure with which it is united. 
These its leading phenomena, and a few others 
are all that we know of that mysterious thing, 
which we call vitality, or life, in the animal form. 

When we advance from the animal to the 
INTELLECTUAL LIFE, wc Comprehend in our obser- 
vation, a new set of phenomena, arising from an 
unknown cause or power which we call mind, 
and which we infer is superadded, in the frame of 
man, to the cause or power from which result the 
merely vital phenomena. We have never seen 
these intellectual phenomena except in man, 
and, therefore, we claim for the human family 
the high and distinctive prerogative of reason 
and intelligence. The peculiar manifestations 
of this power which we call mind, are a more 
comprehensive knowledge of things ; a tracing 
of effects to their causes, and a reasoning from 
causes to their effects ; a treasuring up the accu- 
mulated observations of different ages and na- 
tions ; the application of this acquired know- 
ledge in a thousand ways, for accommodation 
and comfort in food, in clothing, in shelter, in 
the convenience of household affairs, in com- 
merce, in education, science and government. 



289 



Whatever superiority man has attained in these^ 
is the achievement of mind, or of those powers 
which we distinguish by the names of apprehen- 
sion, memory, judgment, imagination, and all 
others which are attributes of that unknown 
power, which we call intellectual life — of that 
unknown being, which we call mind or souL 

Now in reference to this peculiar attribute of 
man, we would have you remember, that it is 
essential to him and inseparable from his nature. 
A man without the intellectual life would only 
be a man in form ; he would be destitute of that 
characteristic to which the name properly be- 
longs. The original characteristic powers of the 
human being are, perhaps, pretty nearly alike in 
all, and the differences observed are chiefly the 
result of cultivation. Education does not confer 
the powers, it only brings them out, invigorates 
them, and guides them in their application. It 
is the same to the mind, as food and exercise and 
training are to the body. It is the source of 
mental health and vigor and comprehension. 
Now these are very much dependant on oneself, 
and on the circumstances in which one is placed. 
The intellectual life may be permitted to slum- 
ber. A person may be so careless about the cul- 
ture of his mind, that none of its faculties shall 
ever be properly developed. His apprehension 
may remain so dull that he shall never be able 
to conceive distinctly the simplest idea ; his 
memory may remain so weak that he shall 

z 



200 

never accumulate any thing that deserves the 
name of knowledge; his judgement may re- 
main so undiscriminating as to be unable to 
follow out the briefest process of reasoning; 
and he may be just as incompetent for those 
mental pursuits which distinguish cultivated 
man, as if he were entirely destitute of the 
inborn power which might have qualified him to 
enter upon them. And thus, though he be pos- 
sessed of the principle of intellectual life, it may, 
from the neglect of its proper culture, remain in 
a state of infantile weakness, or of slumbering 
inactivity. 

These facts, confirmed by daily observation, 
may lead us to note one remarkable difference, 
between the animal and intellectual life. The 
animal life will manifest itself, grow, and expand 
to perfection, quite independent of the will or 
choice of its possessor. Man, throughout every 
stage of growth, from infancy to mature age, is 
instinctively and irresistibly led to bodily activity. 
We could not even if we chose confine ourselves 
to one place or one posture, without intolerable 
uneasiness : and thus we are impelled by a phy- 
sical instinct to that bodily activity which is 
congenial to health and growth. It is the same 
with every action or function essential to life. 
We cannot. resist the cravings of hunger or thirst. 
When exhausted, we cannot resist the tendency 
to sleep. Nor can we, by any volition of ours, 
suspend the action of the heart or lungs. These 



291 



appetites issue them imperious mandates and we 
must obey : these vital organs urge on their ap- 
propriate movements, and we cannot stop thern. 
In thus subjecting animal life to necessary lawSy 
independent of the will of the animal itself, we 
have a striking evidence of creative design. Our 
life is thus in a great measure placed beyond our 
own caprice ; the safety and perfection of our 
frame is guarded by a physical necessity ; and 
the continuance and physical well-being of the 
species is secured. 

But it is far otherwise with the life intellectual. 
The mind has naturally no impelling, irresistible, 
appetite like the body. We cannot quench the 
appetite for food ; but we can easily quench the 
appetite for knowledge. It remains, indeed, 
entirely with a man's self, supposing the means 
of cultivation to be within his reach, whether he 
shall be wise or ignorant, learned or unlearned. 
If he choose it, he may continue even to hoary 
hairs in a state of intellectual childhood — never 
known aught of that study which is a weariness 
to the flesh, nor be troubled with any of those 
aspirations which lead contemplative men to 
search for wisdom as for hidden treasure. He 
may fulfil his appointed task in the community 
with as much skill and diligence as the beaver ; 
he may feed with as fresh an appetite, and sleep 
as soundly as the ox ; and except in so far as his 
intellectual powers are necessary to these subor- 
dinate ends, he may never call them into exercise^, 



292 



but permit them to languish and decay, through 
want of cultivation and employment. We need 
not say that in this case the blame is entirely his 
own ; that he permits the noblest powers of his na- 
ture to remain in abeyance ; that neglecting their 
cultivation he casts away from him the dignified 
enjoyments of the intellectual life, and degrades 
himself from the rank he was destined to hold 
amidst the intelligent creation. 

We might expatiate on this state of the charae-- 
ter of man, in connexion with its guilt, for assur- 
edly that man is chargeable with the highest 
guilt, who does not duely improve according to 
his opportunity, those powers by which the 
Creator has distinguished him ; — but at present 
we advert rather to the degradation than the guilt. 
It is a reproach to a man to be uninformed in 
necessary and important knowledge, if informa- 
tion has been within his reach. He narrows the 
sphere of his enjoyment, and loses the recom- 
pense which the infinitely wise God awards to 
those who rise high in the attainments of true 
knowledge. And were we not under the in- 
fluence of a strange perversion we would look 
with highest indignation on those, who volun- 
tarily reject the purer enjoyments of reason, and 
remain all their lifetime in an ignoble content- 
ment with the mean gratifications of animal ex- 
istence. They prefer the characteristics of the 
animal ; they contemn those of the man. 

The absolute maturity of the intellectual life. 



however, cannot be reached until the faculties of 
man have reached the highest pitch of cultiva- 
tion, and are placed in the most favorable cir- 
cumstances for their exercise : and we have 
reason to believe that these faculties will expand 
without limit, as they are rightly employed and 
<5ultivated. The greater the mind's attainments 
the more vigorous and capable it will become 
for new efforts. The higher the eminence it has 
gained, the more extended will be its view, 
and the greater the advantage to push onward 
and upward with a bolder wing. It may skim 
along the earth, or it may reach the stars. It 
may burrow in the soil with the earth-worm, or 
take its rank with the seraphim before the throne 
of God. In these intellectual efforts, as in deeds 
of virtue and beneficence, " every man shall re- 
ceive according to his works." 

We may now proceed to the consideration of 
a different and higher order of life than either 
the animal, or intellectual, namely, the spiri- 
tual, — which is indeed the noblest characteristic 
of human nature, both in its original and rege- 
nerated state. Like the two former it is distin- 
guished by its peculiar results and manifesta- 
tions. It has been named the moral life, the 
new life, the spiritual life, the divine life, the 
life of God in the soul. Its chief characteristics 
are certain affections and sentiments, which 
have God for their object, and which branch out 
in the s^dmiration of all moral excellence, and 
z2 



294 



incite to the pursuit of it. These affections have 
not only specific objects, but they have a specific 
origin. This will appear in the sequel. 

But, to assist your discrimination, let it be 
observed, that though the spiritual life is nur- 
tured in the region of feeling, or emotion, there 
are many feelings which have no immediate 
connexion with the spiritual life. The feeling 
of pain when the body is injured, or of gratifi- 
cation when any appetite has received its appro- 
priate food, are affections of our corporeal na- 
ture ; and so to a gTeat extent, is the instinctive 
love of parents for their children, and of children 
for their parents ; and of some other affections 
which commonly pass under the name of social. 
Man is led to the indulgence of them by a natural 
instinct; and although in him, because of his 
reasonable and moral nature, these affections 
have generally a wider range, and a more re- 
fined and elevated character than the analogous 
affections in the inferior tribes, yet they are to be 
traced mainly to the instinctive or physical part 
of our constitution : more perfect in the human 
race, they are not peculiar to it, or essentially 
characteristic of human nature. 

But the advanced Christian is conscious of the 
existence within himself of other affections which 
cannot be traced to an animal or purely intellec- 
tual origin. He loves justice and abhors injus- 
tice. He feels within him the glow of benevo- 
lence, and is happy when he can indulge it in 



295 



beneficent actions. He loves and honors in his 
fellow-men, goodness, veracity, devotion, charity, 
and he abhors and reprobates their contraries. 
In his thoughts, feelings, and actions, he recog- 
nizes the omniscient inspection of God and a 
future judgment ; he receives, studies and fol- 
lows the scriptures as a divine and infallible 
guide ; by faith he habitually depends on the 
death, intercession, and protection of the Re- 
deemer ; he reverentially observes the ordinances 
of Christ's appointment as the means of cherish- 
ing holy affections ; the subjects of his most fre- 
quent and delightful meditations are the revealed 
character of God, — the life, death, and glory of 
Christ, — the holiness and felicity of his spiritual 
kingdom ; in a word contemplation on all the 
varied themes, which the word and works, and 
ways of God present to a mind delighting to 
trace his character and operations—these are 
some of the manifestations of the spiritual life 
in which holy sentiments are combined with the 
loftiest contemplations of the understanding. 

We need but a moment's reflection, to convince 
us of the peculiarity and elevation of this mode 
of life. Whatever belongs to the body must 
perish with the body. Its appetites will not sur- 
vive when itself has returned to dust. The in- 
stinctive affections of parent and child answer 
an important end in the present world in which 
successive generation is an established law ; but 
in a future world, where men will not be united 



296 



in these relationships, the parental and filial | 
affections cannot exist as they now do. In like j 
manner, much of the knowledge useful in the \ 
present world, as connected with our present j 
wants, circumstances, and duties, will be of no 1 
avail, when all these are entirely changed. In j 
the world of spirits, there will be no need to cul- \ 
tivate the soil, to practice mechanical arts, to fol- 
low the pursuits of commerce, to apply our 1 
knowledge of matter to inventions that may ren- 
der it subservient to our necessities — ^for every j 
idea that we can form of that world, 'leads i 
to the conclusion, that there mind will be i 
so much elevated above matter, and so indepen- 
dent of it, as to need little of its instrumentality. \ 
The knowledge, therefore, that has reference 
only to this life may be laid with us in the grave, i 
But things truly valuable must possess some im- ' 
mortal quality, something that will render them ! 
ours, and profitably ours — not only during the j 
few years of our sojourn on earth, but during the I 
whole period of our endless existence. Now all j 
the results of the spiritual life possess this im- ] 
mortal quality. We cannot conceive man to be i 
translated to any state, in which righteousness, 
benevolence, piety, devotion, will not be excel- I 
lencies ; in which reverence and obedience to 
God will not be obligatory ; in which the enjoy- 
ment of God, through such affections and con- j 
templations, will not constitute the supreme j 
good. Whatever puts us in possession of these, l 



297 



prepares us for a higher existence ; and the life 
spiritual is of inestimable value, because it con- 
ducts to the life everlasting, and constitutes both 
its perfection and beatitude. We cannot, there- 
fore propose to mankind an object more worthy 
of their care than the cultivation of this spiritual 
life, or a nobler ambition than to secure its dis- 
tinctions. If you desire a good independent of 
the misfortunes of time, you will find it here ; if 
you desire a riches that will pass current in 
heaven, you will find it in holy sentiments ; if 
you desire the ornaments of an unfading and im- 
perishable excellence, which God will approve 
as the likeness of his own image, and angels 
will embrace as the badge of celestial kindred ; 
these must spring from the spiritual life, and 
grow up within that part of us which is endued 
with immortality. 

CONSIDER NOW THE SOURCE AND ORIGIN OF THE 
SPIRITUAL LIFE. 

In the verses which immediately precede the 
text the writer has asserted that all things were 
created by the word, and therefore every living 
thing, of every order and degree, whether worm 
or man ; whether throne, or dominion, or princi- 
pality, or power. According to our modes of 
conceiving, divine power is more remarkably dis- 
played in things that have life than in things in- 
animate. Their more exquisite structure mani» 



298 



fests a greater variety of contrivance ; and in 
contemplating even the lowest living forms we 
feel that they rise immeasurably above inorganic 
and inanimate matter. The principle of life, of 
sensation, of motion, reminds us more emphati- 
cally of the infinitude of the creating power. On 
a small scale many of the processes of material 
nature can be imitated by man's art. Artificial 
gems and flowers can be made closely to re- 
semble those of nature. But who ever saw any 
successful imitation even of the lowest mode of 
life Our recognition of Deity in the produc- 
tion of life becomes more distinct, more solemn, 
when we contemplate the nature of man. His 
more perfect structure, his larger capacities, the 
powers and aspirations of his rational nature, dis- 
play at once a loftier origin, and suggest that in 
some pre-eminent sense, " God hath breathed in- 
to him the breath of Life." Whether we contem- 
plate the primitive pair who were formed by the 
immediate act of God, or the numerous genera- 
tions who have descended from them, through 
the operation of constant physical laws, in which 
the power and wisdom of God are not less sig- 
nally displayed than in the creation of the origi- 
nal pair, we are more forcibly struck with the 
evidences of divine power in man than in all the 
world beside. All creation testifies of God, but 
the testimony of animated nature and especially 
of man who stands at the head of it, is most dis- 
tinct and impressive ; — and when the Apostle 



299 



affirms of the Son of God " that in him was life," 
he undoubtedly declares his investment with the 
highest attributes of creating power. 

But waiving at present the illustration of the 
first proposition here asserted, that in him, that is 
in the Eternal Word loas life^ the source and origin 
of all life, let us confine our view to the explana- 
tory clause, "'the life was the light of man." This 
affirmation presents the Son of God to us as the 
author of that dispensation of truth and mercy 
which through the Church he is establishing in 
the world. 

1. Christ the life was the light of man, as he is 
the author of that special revelation of the divine 
will which at sundry times and in diverse man- 
ners has been vouchsafed to the world. 

We cannot doubt that when man came from 
tlje hands of God, and so long as he continued 
in a state of innocence, he had a competent 
knowledge of his Creator, and the purposes of 
God respecting him. To him the Life was the 
light of man, — the Power that imparted life en- 
dued him with knowledge. The voice of 
Jehovah was heard amidst the trees of the garden, 
or converse with angelic beings was occasionally 
permitted ; or the divine illumination of heavenly 
trath shone immediately upon his soul. But 
when sin entered, it brought disorder and debase- 
ment into the soul. The fears and apprehensions 
of guilt alienated it from the Creator and darken- 
ed that inward light with which it had in inno- 



300 



cence been blessed. The language of the fallen 
one now was — " I heard thy voice in the garden 
and I was afraid and hid myself." In this sad 
conjuncture the promise and hope of a Saviour 
was revealed, at first obscurely but with continued 
accessions of light as ages rolled on, until the ad- 
vent of the Great Deliverer — the Sun of Righteous- 
ness, with whom came the blaze of meridian day. 
To Him solely mankind are indebted for what- 
ever measure of sacred, supernatural light — light 
revealing God, and leading to God, hath at any 
time been communicated to the world. All his- 
tory and experience testifies that where this light 
is not supernaturally communicated and super- 
naturally preserved, the soul will remain in, or 
will sink into, spiritual darkness. Into this state 
the world before the flood sunk, until its enormous 
wickedness provoked the Lord to destroy it. Aijd 
if some knowledge of the true God were never- 
theless preserved in the line of Seth, of Enoch, 
and of Noah, it must be attributed entirely to 
the presence and power of " the Life which was 
the light of men." After the flood, we discover 
this spiritual darkness spreading itself over the 
face of the world, until all remembrance of the 
true God was lost, except among the small 
isolated race which descended from faithful 
Abraham ; and even among them also that re- 
membrance would have perished (so inveterately 
averse is the natural mind to retain it) had it not 
been preserved by a miraculous economy and the 



301 



frequent admonitions of inspired prophets. When 
this knowledge of the true God is once lost, it ap- 
pears to be beyond the reach of the unassisted 
mind ever again to recover it. No instance is 
on record of any nation once sunk into idolatry 
ever rising out of that dark abyss unless through 
a supernatural revelation sent unto them. Greece, 
polished and refined, rose to high eminence in 
literature and philosophy. The poet and the 
orator still catch fire at its poetry and eloquence ; 
and yet the wisest and the best of its sages could 
not rise to the certain discovery of the one Eternal 
Supreme. They had penetration enough to des- 
pise the superstitions of the vulgar, but not wis- 
dom enough to substitute any thing better in 
their place. Where intellectual Greece failed, it 
is not to be thought that martial Rome would suc- 
ceed — even had she made the attempt to en- 
lighten the minds of men instead of enslaving 
their liberties. And whatever may have been 
the march of mind since, of which there is so 
much vaunting in the present age, it never has, 
without the communication of a supernatural 
light, marched back to God — never has attained to 
any enlightened views of His character, or to any 
approximate resemblance of His moral purity : it 
never has attained, apart from revelation, any 
certainty of a future life, or of the means by 
which a sinner may be reconciled unto God. For 
the attainment of these objects Christ who is 
the Life became the light of men. 

AA 



302 



2. But in a still more emphatic sense the Eter- 
nal Word — the Life — is the light of men because 
of that divine influence with which the written 
word is accompanied, and rendered effectual to 
all them that believe. 

The natural mind, impaired and defiled as it is 
with sin, is not receptive^of spiritual knowledge* 
" The light shineth in darkness but the darkness 
comprehendeth it not." As the Jews did not dis- 
cern the divine characteristics of their Messiah 
wheii he came unto them, nor see any beauty in 
Him that they should desire Him, so His gospel 
has always encountered a similar treatment from 
the unbelieving world. Sinners will not be per- 
suaded, — truly and deeply persuaded, — that it is 
from God ; or if some vague conviction should 
be forced upon them, they do not discern its ne- 
cessity and applicability to their particular case ; 
or misapprehending both the malady and the 
cure, they remain the slaves of sin, and render 
the word of God of none effect. Innumerable are 
the instances of this fatal misapprehension even 
within the purest Churches of Christ. Multi- 
tudes hear the Gospel preached from youth to 
age ; they are seen with wonderful regularity 
in their customary places in the sanctuary ; 
they never dissent, by the minutest shade from 
orthodox exposition ; to their own drowsy con- 
sciousness they appear undoubted believers in 
every thing that the gospel declares ; and yet a 
narrower scrutiny will make it appear that the 



303 



articles of their creed have no more influence upon 
their characters than so many fables or dreams. It 
has never penetrated into their heart — the source 
of feeling and action ; with favour and rever- 
ence they have regarded it, but very much in the 
same way that a healthy person might keep in 
his possession some known specific for a grievous 
malady that may at some future time come upon 
him. It is held in estimation. It is carefully 
preserved. At some future time it maybe avail- 
able. Meanwhile there is no felt need of it, no 
personal application of it. In short the gospel is 
in their possession, but it has not come to them 
with power. Sin reigns unsubdued; they are 
dead in trespasses and sins. Nor is there any 
inherent power in the gospel message itself to 
subvert this dominion, to abolish this death. 
Truth revealed is nothing more than means to an 
end. It is light. But what is light to a sightless 
eyeball ? It may shed its rays on all the beauties 
of the landscape and paint their image on the 
retina ; but no impression is conveyed along the 
paralyzed nerve to the soul within, — to the being 
who amidst surrounding light continues to walk 
in darkness, unconscious of the varied wonders 
of the Creator's workmanship. So is it with the 
carnal mind in spiritual things : it cannot com- 
prehend them, because they are spiritually dis- 
cerned. It is not enough that they be externally 
revealed. The eyes of the understanding must 
be enlightened to perceive them. A divine in- 



304 



fluence must be shed upon the soul to awaken it 
from its spiritual slumbers, to quicken it with 
spiritual desire, to endue it with spiritual discern- 
ment, to make it hunger and thirst after the bread 
and water of life. In scripture this change, the 
result of a divine influence, is represented to us 
as " a quickening from death unto life," — and the 
result and manifestation of this change, is a life 
of faith, an entrance upon the world of light. 
Hence true believers are called the illuminated 
■ — the children of light. Behold then an illus- 
tration of that attribute which, in the text, is as^ 
cribed to Christ. Every saving change produced 
on the soul of man through the truth is His work- 
manship, because the Holy Spirit, through whose 
agency it is mediately effected, is His gift. 
To Him, therefore, must be ascribed the glory of 
our salvation. The work cannot be accomplished 
by less than a Divine power, — a power capable 
of originating life in a soul spiritually dead. 
In Him is life, and the life is the light of men. 

3. But further ; the maintaining of this spiritual 
life in the soul is not less the work of Christ than 
the origination of it. 

This doctrine, so evidently implied in the text, 
is variously presented to us in the sacred oracles. 

Your life is hid with Christ in God : when 
Christy who is your life^ shall appear, then shall 
ye also appear with Him in glory. " This spiri- 
tual life indeed, coming from Christ, and contin- 
ually sustained by Him, is sustained by appro- 



305 



priate aliments. But these aliments are not the 
life, nor have they in themselves any virtue, ex- 
cept as it is imparted to them by the Almighty 
source of life. This fact, however, is very much 
overlooked by the multitudes who have only a 
name to live. They imagine that outward ob- 
servances constitute religion, or the spiritual life. 
To read the scriptures, to repeat prayers, to ob- 
serve the Sabbath, to attend the sacrament, is the 
sum of their religion. Now these are only the 
aliments of piety, not piety itself. But of what 
use is aliment to a being that hath not life To 
be able to use aright the ordinances of religion, 
pre-supposes the existence of the spiritual life of 
which they are the nourishment. For the dead 
have no desire for food, and were it possible to 
convey it to them it could not become nourish- 
ment to them. So is it at the gospel feast. To 
the outward eye it may seem as if the promiscu- 
ous company in the house of God, were all sitting 
at His table, enjoying the same spiritual repast. 
But except in the case of those who are made 
alive in Christ Jesus, the whole scene is an illu- 
sion. The carnal mind cannot enjoy fellowship 
with God. It cannot breath itself out in prayer 
before Him. It cannot join in the melody of 
praise. It cannot feed on Christ by faith with 
thanksgiving. Nor is it nourished by grace in 
the ordinances of grace. Year after year it may 
frequent the holy place, but it cannot draw water 
out of the wells of salvation. That water refreshes 



306 



the living only, not the dead. Be admonished 
then, that sacred ordinances are appointed chiefly 
for the sustentaiion of the spiritual life ; that those 
alone to whom this life has been imparted can 
duly observe them ; and that their entire efficacy 
is derived from Christ, through whom they are 
made spirit and life to His people. By the Spirit, 
revealed truth is accompanied with demonstration 
and sanctifying power to the believer ; and dwel- 
ling in his heart it becomes within him a well of 
water springing up unto everlasting life. 

And the dependence of this spiritual life upon 
its divine author is maintained, under the econo- 
my of grace, by a definite and beautiful arrange- 
ment. Whenever it is imparted, it moves the soul 
upwards to its source, and is preserved by the 
constant derivation of celestial influences. For 
the attraction between Christ and the believer is 
mutual and constant ; with an unchangable love 
he has embraced them, and he will not sufier 
them to perish. On the other hand theirs is a life 
of faith on the Son of God, and by this link they 
are inseparably united to Him. Faith is not the 
originating cause of this life ; it is an effect, just 
as appetite is an effect of corporeal life, and like 
appetite it pants after its appropriate gratification, 
and will not be appeased by any substitute. 
With restless endeavour it will seek until it find 
its object. Does the believer long for closer fel- 
lowship with Him whom his soul loveth ? He 
is to be found in His word, in the ploset, in the 



SOT 



sanctuary: He dwells with the broken and con- 
trite in heart. Faith is strengthened as its objects 
become more distinctly visible. Love burns with 
a purer flame as the infinite love of God discloses 
itself. All moral graces shoot forth more fair 
and perfect as our divine examplar is discerned. 
Thus the life which in regeneration is imparted 
to the soul, is attracted towards its source, and 
drinks in its perfection. " Beholding with open 
face the glory of God we are transformed into 
the same image." 

4. Christ is the author of eternal life unto all 
them that believe. " My sheep hear my voice, 
and I know them, and they follow Me. And I 
give unto them eternal life, and they shall never 
perish, neither shall any pluck them out of My 
hand." 

In the soul of every believer He is the source 
of spiritual life. All other forms of life are des- 
tined to perish : — this alone is immortal. Every 
inferior order, after enjoying for a brief period the 
gratifications of which they are capable, return 
to undistinguishable dust. Mortality is the ori- 
ginal law of their being, and by it they are swept 
utterly away, and become in death as if they had 
never been. But man was created immortal ; 
and although death, in consequence of sin, ob- 
tains a temporary triumph over his body, the 
soul can never be touched by its power. Of 
this fact, the knowledge of which had well nigh 
perished amidst that spiritual darkness which sin 



308 



had brought over the world, we have received 
the certain discovery in the gospel which pro- 
claims eternal life through Jesus Christ our 
Lord. To raise man to everlasting life is the 
grand design of redemption ; and to raise 
him to spiritual life is a necessary antecedent. 
Christ died to purchase for his people the remis- 
sion of sins, and the influence of renewing grace. 
Being renewed, they are raised both to the favour 
and the image of God. The title to eternal life 
is conferred on them, and the preparation for it is 
begun ; but not until its consummation be reached 
will the import of the text be fully manifest, — 
" the life was the light of men.'* 

If we regard " light " as the knowledge of di- 
vine things to which the redeemed shall be raised 
in a future world, it hath not entered into the 
heart of man to conceive its nature and extent. 
In the resurrection, the children of God will 
behold His unclouded glory. The consciousness 
of His presence and favour will be lively, habi- 
tual and beatific. Their immortal forms will be 
" full of eyes" — all blessed with the infinite mani- 
festations of the Godhead. And if throughout 
the far extended circle of the universe its perfec- 
tions are displayed ; if the suns and systems that 
people it are each reflections of divine power and 
benignity ; if all are peopled with intelligent 
orders, among whom there may be happy con- 
verse and holy sympathy, who can estimate the 
value of that knowledge which shall accumulate 



S09 



in a sphere so wide, and, throughout an unlimited 
duration, of which the redeemed soul shall be the 
receptacle ? 

If we regard " light " as purity^ — the re- 
semblance of the Father of lights, to what an 
elevation may the saints of God be raised. 
When we speak of their condition as sinless^ we 
describe it by a negation. When we speak of it 
as holy we employ a term of which our concep- 
tions are dim and inadequate. When we call it 
happy, here also our language fails, for we have 
no true type on earth of the happiness of the up- 
per world. " Beloved, now are we the sons of 
God, but it doth not yet appear what we shall be ; 
but we know that when He shall appear we shall 
be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is," — 
like Him, as far as the finite can resemble the 
infinite, in the love and admiration of what is 
morally fair and true and good ; in His righteous- 
ness and holiness ; in that attribute of love which 
is the source and centre of moral perfection. 
Moreover, the redeemed shall possess qualities 
specifically their own — fervent gratitude for their 
redemption, connected with such recollections of 
the past as only the history of a ransomed sinner 
can furnish. 

If we regard " light " as happiness, one of 
the elements of the everlasting life to which 
the redeemed shall be raised, how shall we ^ 
delineate what we can only imperfectly con- 
ceive ? In the scripture delineations of heavenly 



310 



bliss, negations are employed until every ill that 
has embittered the present world is excluded, yet 
no more is given but a dim shadow of the reali- 
tiy.* These children of light are supremely 
blessed in the perpetual enjoyment of the divine 
favour : in their employments, in their fellow- 
ship, in their unclouded and everlasting pros- 
pects. What more can even heaven admit? 
With a fulness ineffable the life shall then be the 
light of the redeemed. 

To you who are the children of light and of 
the day, — to such as can humbly testify, " I live, 
yet not I but Christ liveth in me," we offer one 
affectionate counsel. "Take heed lest ye be 
hardened through the deceitfulness of sin. For 
we are made partakers of Christ if we hold fast 
the begining of our confidence steadfast unto the 
end." Ye live in the midst of a world where every 
object is shedding upon you influences un- 
genial to the spiritual life ; and so stupifying are 
these in the case of multitudes, even of such as 
have been quickened to newness of life, that they 
are often in doubt as to its very existence within 
them. They live ; but theirs is a sickly, death- 
like life. Their piety is not strong, and beautiful, 
and joyous ; but feeble, and withered, and melan- 
choly. Beware of the causes which will infalli- 
bly reduce you to such a state, in which the 
life shall be as death,— the cares of the world, 
the deceitfulness of pleasure, the sin that still re- 

• Rev. xxi. 4, and xxii. 3-5. 



311 



mains in your unsanctified nature. Study to 
walk in constant fellowship with Him from whom 
the life-giving stream proceeds. Be His word 
your light. Be His mercy seat the place of your 
most frequent resort. " Go thy way by the foot- 
steps of the flock, and feed beside the shepherds' 
tents." And the Good Shepherd who laid down 
His life for His sheep will guard you in His 
faithfulness, as the apple of His eye, and bring 
you in safety to the heavenly fold. 

Suffer me, ere I dismiss this subject, to offer a 
word of sole men warning and admonition. The 
Jews rejected Christ. It is possible for you also 
to reject Him. Christ demonstrated His Messiah- 
ship by signs and wonders, and mighty deeds, 
yet when he came to His own His own received 
Him not. His gospel left behind Him as a 
legacy to the world, bears as conspicuously as 
its Author did, the evidences of its divinity ; yet, 
like its Author, it may be treated with indiffer- 
ence, or rejected with scorn. The veil of unbe- 
lief that has long rested on the sinner's heart may 
have made him love darkness rather than light. 
He offers you life, O sinner, life spiritual and 
eternal ; and yet the offer may never have 
awakened in you serious consideration for an 
hour. He has revealed to you the will of God ; 
yet you may never have thought of the value of 
the gift, nor applied it to the purpose for which 
it was bestowed. Life and immortality are now 
clearly brought to light ; and yet the busy occupa- 



312 



lions and delusive pleasures of this frail and 
feverish being may have well nigh excluded it 
from your anticipations. Oh ! ruinous delusions 
by which the sinner is led astray from the way of 
peace ! How insignificant and mean the objects 
you persue, — objects which you may never gain, 
and which, if gained, would leave you as un- 
satisfied as ever. How inestimable the bless- 
ings which you reject, or which, by your indiffer- 
ence and delay to possess, may speedily be re- 
moved for ever beyond your reach. It belongs to 
our sacred function, O sinner, to call you to 
pause, to consider, to fear. The terrible judg- 
ments of God will assuredly overtake all who 
reject this great salvation ; and we as ambassa- 
dors in Christ's stead, beseech you by the mercies 
of God to accept the life He waits to bestow, and 
to walk in the light which he sheds around you. 
To-day if you will hear his voice harden not your 
hearts. Behold now is the accepted time. He 
who is the Life of men waits to be light and life 
to you. 

But remember, reader, that you may subsist 
without this life, — without these excellences, if 
you choose it. A great part of mankind hold 
them in little esteem. They are not qualities 
that can be brought to a worldly market, — they 
cannot be submitted to the observation of the 
world, or exchanged for any of its commodities. 
Even the results of them that appear in outward 
action, are not such as attract very general es- 



313 



teem. To stand aloof from multitudes whose 
principles and conduct you are obliged to con- 
demn ; to cherish habitual restraint and appre- 
hension amidst scenes which are commonly 
reckoned safe and innocent; to practice self- 
denial with a view to ultimate security ; to bring 
the principles and spirit of the divine law to bear 
upon the minutest part of ordinary conduct, will 
infallibly produce a peculiarity and precision of 
character not quite agreeable to the general tastes 
and likings of mankind. But it is in your power 
to forego it, if you please. God commands you 
to cultivate it, — but He has not placed you under 
any compulsion. You have the power within 
you, and the grace offered ; but you may reject 
the grace, and suffer the power to remain unde- 
veloped. Thousands make this choice, and they 
seem to get through the world tolerably well 
without knowing that there is any such thing as 
a divine life, — possessed too, it may be, of nu- 
merous accomplishments on which the world 
sets high value. How it may fare with them 
when they pass into a state of existence where 
only those who possess the life of God shall be 
with God to behold His glory, — they may not 
trouble themselves to inquire. But you, reader, 
you, as we humbly trust, are animated with a 
better spirit, with a more enlightened regard to 
your eternal interests ; and to you we now offer 
a word of counsel. 
The cultivation of the spiritual life must result 

BB 



314 



from your own deliberate and settled choice ' 
You cannot improve the intellect without this, — 
far less can you call forth the affections of the 
heart. Decided choice must always precede 
strenuous endeavour; and, it requires no small 
degree of reflection to fix the choice upon spiri- 
tual excellence. Our actions are seen ; and in 
regard to them we can often bring the opinions 
of our fellow men to corroborate our own inward 
wavering sense of rectitude, — but it is not so 
with our affections, principles and motives. They 
are not seen by man, and public opinion cannot 
impel us to their regulation. Here we have no 
witness, no check, save God ; no monitor, save 
conscience ; no guide save the dictates of in- 
spired truth. Alas, for fallen and erring man, 
the witness is invisible ; the monitor is too easily 
perverted ; the dictates of the guide are too 
frequently forgotten. How then may our choice 
be fixed, when the grounds of it are so apt to 
flit away from our remembrance ? 

In order then to fix your choice upon the life of 
God, as an object to be attained, it is necessary 
that you should cultivate the habitual fear of 
God. 

And this filial fear of God, this love of Christ, 
must be nurtured into a deep, habitual sentiment, 
in order to the perfection of this spiritual life. 
It will grow by what it feeds on. In this sense 
may be understood the mystic words, — I am the 
bread of life." In the spirit of the figure the soul 



315 



ihat will be animated and imbued with this 
" life," must " eat the flesh and drink the blood of 
Son of man." This its daily sustenance will be 
the spring issuing from the fountain ; or in the 
spirit of another figure, in which the images of 
light and life are combined, " Beholding as in a 
glass the glory of the Lord, we are changed into 
the same image." Christ is the mirror from 
which the divine glory is reflected. Gaze stead- 
fastly upon it, that you may apprehend the glory 
of the reflected object, and admire, love, and re- 
semble it. Ye have seen how on a metallic sur- 
face skillfully prepared, the sun imprints the 
image we wish to copy and perpetuate. Ray upon 
ray falls on the shadow, and its minutest outline 
is caught and fixed. So by the eflicacy of a 
co-operating grace flowing in silence from the 
Eternal Spirit, in the channel of a living faith, there 
rises up on the immortal tablet of the regenerate 
soul, the similitude of the divine image — the 
beauty of holiness, the robe of light, the will that 
blends itself with the divine, the proper life of 
the creature whose nature is an emanation from 
God, whose destiny is to return to its everlasting 
source, and to be satisfied with a perfect blisa 
when it awakes in His likeness. 



» 



THE SOUL OF MAN— A BOOK. 



BS2 



\ 



THE SOUL OF MAN— A BOOK. 



And 1 saw tke dead, small and great, stand before God ; and 
the books were opened. — Rev. 20, ch. v. 12. 

The passage with which these word§ stand 
connected, is an emblematic description of the 
last judgment, — that which awaits every indi- 
vidual of the human family when the history of 
our world shall be completed. The images 
under which this awful event is presented to us 
are fitted to inspire us with the liveliest apprehen- 
sions of its terrible grandeur and sublimity, and all 
the more deeply that w^e ourselves are parties im- 
mediately and personally concerned in its results. 
As usual in Sacred Scripture, the eternal Judge 
is presented uuder no similitude — since there is 
nothing in heaven or earth to which we can 
liken God. For this reason we are forbidden 
even in imagination, to frame any likeness of 
him : it is idolatry, whether the delineation be a 
mere mental image of form and figure, — or a 
visible and material form fashioned by art and 
man's device. The pure theism of revelation 
does not permit it. To aid our conceptions, how- 
ever, and to render the use of human language 



320 



possible for the delineation of the Deity, holy 
Scripture speaks after the manner of man, of 
"the eyes of God" — to which all things are naked 
and open ; — of " the arm of God" — which sus- 
tains the pillars of heaven ; — of " the voice of 
God" — which commanded and all things stood 
fast ; — of " the throne of God" — to which all 
orders of creation are submissive ; but no Chris- 
tian capable of clear and comprehensive thought 
confounds these figurative forms of speech with 
the true or real ; they are true indeed in their 
meaning as figures ; they are conformable to 
human analogies ; the eye is a sufficiently good 
emblem of the power of observation, very limit- 
ed in man, in God unlimited ; the arm is a suf- 
ficiently good emblem of power, very feeble in 
man, in God Almighty; the throne is a fit 
emblem of dominion, local and unstable among 
men, — with God universal and everlasting. But 
while these similitudes are employed to shadow 
forth the attributes of God, no similitude is ever 
employed to shadow forth God himself. The 
infinitude of his glory is veiled in unapproach- 
able light ; clouds and darkness are round about 
his throne ; his way is in the sea, his path in the 
great waters, his footsteps are not known ; and 
accordingly, in the emblematic description from 
which the text is taken, we have represented a 
great white throne, but no similitude of the 
terrible majesty which sits upon it. Faith 
beholds on it, only the emblem of his pre- 



321 



sence, who filleth immensity, and hath created 
the universe ; who hath formed the soul of man 
with all its powers and capacities, that in the end 
of the world it might be judged according to its 
character, and rewarded according to its works. 

And the manner of this final judgment, which 
shall determine the condition of all men, is also 
represented in the passage before us under a 
figure : — the books were opened, and the dead 
were judged out of the things which were writ- 
ten in the books." The meaning evidently is, 
that every thing connected with the moral history 
of the accountable creature man, is the subject of 
record ; his deeds or works are particularly spe- 
cified here — a part being put for the whole ; 
— for it is consistent with the general scope of 
holy writ, and with the essential principles of 
morality, than when any judgement is formed 
respecting the merit or demerit of a moral agent, 
the intention or motive must be viewed in con- 
nexion with the deed, seeing both are the sub- 
ject of law, and in both there must be rectitude as 
defined by that law. The absolute degree of 
merit or turpitude in any moral agent must, there- 
fore, depend on a great variety of circumstances ; 
— upon the various influences that may have 
affected the developement of his moral nature ; 
upon the culture which his conscience has re- 
ceived, and the directive light under which it 
judges ; upon the clearness and force of the moral 
considerations which may have been resisted or 



322 



regarded ; upon the religious opportunities that 
may have been improved, or misimproved : all 
these must come into account, in estimating the 
merit, or demerit of any moral agent. The 
omniscient and unerring witness alone is able to 
keep this record. He alone knows every thought 
in man, and all the circumstances, the most hid- 
den and distant that may have led to its concep- 
tion ; — he alone knows every feeling that may 
twine around it, and all the moral shades with 
which every feeling may be engrained ; he alone 
knows the action not only in its source, but in 
all its results on the individual and on society in 
their widest range : and all this, not in one in- 
stance only, but in every instance. Returning to 
the language of figure suggested by the text — 
the divine register is complete which contains the 
moral history of every individual ; thoughts and 
words, intentions and actions ; temptations to sin 
resisted, and temptations to sin yielded to ; all are 
recorded with unerring precision ; and every child 
of Adam shall be judged out of those things 
which are written in the " book." The record 
is faithful ; — and the judge of all the earth will 
do right. 

But there is another view of this subject to 
which these solemn considerations will, I trust, 
be an appropriate introduction. We feel no dif- 
ficulty in receiving this article of our belief, that 
God knows all things and sees every thing con- 
nected with the moral history of the individual in 



323 



its true light ; — that nothing can ever fade away 
from his unchanging remembrance, — that all 
things past, present and to come are always fresh 
upon it. These attributes belong essentially and 
inseparably to every idea that we form of the 
true God. This idea of the divine omniscience 
although overwhelming to beings like us, is 
nevertheless demonstrably certain ; it is inse- 
parable^rom our very conception of the all per- 
fect one? " All things must be naked and open 
to the eyes of him with whom we have to do." 
This attribute of God is infinite : — we cannot 
attain to any very clear conception of it — even 
though it be undeniable ; for who will pre- 
sume to deny a perfection of the Godhead ; and 
in this view of it, a perfection essential to the 
perfect administration of his moral government 
and the righteous judgment of mankind. But 
we wish in the sequel rather 1o call your at- 
tention to a fact in the constitution of man, a 
dim TYPE of this attribute of the Godhead — for 
man was originally created in the similitude of 
God. The fact is, that man is capable of dis- 
criminating, recollecting, and feeling, or if being 
made to discriminate, recollect and feel, every 
thing connected with his own moral history, 
upon the aggregate of which the sentence of the 
eternal judge will be founded. This is not to 
claim for man any thing beyond the proper 
capacity of his nature in its right or normal con- 
dition. True, we have never seen it in this 



324 



condition ; we have no explicit record of its ever 
having existed in this condition. All that we 
actually know of man establishes the fact that he 
is perpetually erring, especially in matters con- 
nected with morality and religion — that con- 
science is a feeble power within him ; — a power 
which, even when in some measure directed and 
enlightened by a divine rule, is prone to err in its 
decisions ; — above all, every man who is accus- 
tomed to look within his own heart is aware, that 
scarcely any thing is more apt to be forgotten, 
than the judgements that we pass upon our con- 
duct in the daily feelings and actions of our life. 
Who among us, for instance, somewhat advanced 
in age, can remember any considerable number 
of those acts of disobedience to our parents with 
which, in early life, we were chargeable ? We 
cannot remember much of all that variety of feel- 
ing and deportment which entered into the moral 
history of our boyhood, the united results of 
which have given shape to the character of the 
man ? — Nay, even when we confine our review 
to a more limited period, to the past year, for in- 
stance, and when we try to stir up conscience to 
give a faithful report on it, we find ourselves 
very much in the dark : we open " the book'' 
but we cannot find the entries : — all is blank ; 
we have a general idea that a great deal must 
have been done amiss, but we cannot trace the 
particulars : we had them once : conscience 
judged faithfully enough perhaps at the time, 



325 



and memory recorded the judgment, "^though 
the lines are now faded, and we cannot revive 
them. We may be able to recal a few instances 
in which we were more notably culpable — in- 
stances which furrowed deeper lines, but the 
rest is forgotten. Were a kingdom promised 
you at this moment you could not by any effort 
recollect them. Now the doctrine that I wish to 
insist on is, that it is essential to your character 
as a moral and accountable being, hereafter to be 
judged, that all these particulars should be re- 
called ; that there is an absolute certainty 
that they shall be recalled : that the entries upon 
the register, be they of right or be they of wrong, 
are not so deleted that it is impossible to restore 
them. Nay, we affirm that they are there ; that 
for the purposes of a moral government it is just 
as essential that the register of your conscience 
should be kept entire, as that the register of 
omniscience should be entire. Your present in- 
capacity of recollection makes nothing against 
this doctrine : — it does not prove that the register 
of conscience is irrecoverably destroyed. We 
know that it is quite possible for a man to lose 
for a time his memory or judgment and to recover 
them with all their treasures. We know that 
in old age the long forgotten reminiscences of 
early life are often revived with great vividness. 
We know that in certain bodily conditions every 
mental power is excited into intense activity. 
Why then should it not be go with conscience, 
cc 



326 

when the individual is arraigned before that 
tribunal, where the purposes of the divine go- 
vernment require that all the arraigned should 
not only acquiesce in the perfect justice of that 
sentence which shall be pronounced upon them- 
selves, but should also be prepared to join in the 
acclamation that " the Lord is righteous in the 
judgments which he executes ? " — ^We may illus- 
trate by an authentic narrative the principle 
asserted — that nothing once impressed on 
memory and conscience ever perishes, but 
becomes immortal as the spiritual essence of 
which these faculties are a part ; that though the 
power to recall at will these recorded impres- 
sions may perish for a time, yet the impressions 
themselves do never. Every act done deliberately 
in the body, and every thought that has passed 
deliberately through the mind, is inscribed on an 
imperishable record — one of the books out of 
which every man will be judged. 

In a letter headed in the Literary Journal, 

THE SENSATIONS OF A DROWNING MAN, address- 
ed by Admiral Beaufort, to Dr. Wollaston, 
the former thus writes : — " Many years ago, 
when I was a youngster on board one of His 
Majesty's ships in Portsmouth harbour, I fell 
into the water, sunk frequently below the 
surface, was exhausted by my struggles, all 
hope had fled, all exertion ceased, and I felt 
that I was drowning. * * « « * From 
the moment that every exertion had ceased, 



327 



which I imagined was the immediate conse- 
quence of complete suffocation — a calm feeling 
of the most perfect tranquillity superseded the 
previous tumultuous sensations — it might be cal- 
led apathy — certainly not resignation, for drown- 
ing no longer appeared to be an evil — I no longer 
thought of being rescued, nor was I in any bodily 
pain. On the contrary, my sensations were now 
of rather a pleasurable cast, partaking of that 
dull but contented sort of feeling which precedes 
the sleep produced by fatigue. Though the 
senses were thus deadened, not so the mind ; its 
activity seemed to be invigorated into a ratio 
that defies all description — for thought rose after 
thought with a rapidity of succession, that is not 
only indescribable, but probably inconceivable, 
by any one who has not himself been in a similar 
situation. The course of these thoughts I can 
even now in a great measure retrace — the event 
which had just taken place — the awkwardness 
which had produced it— the bustle it must have 
occasioned (for I had observed two persons jump 
from the chains) — the effect it would have on a 
most affectionate father — the manner in which 
he would disclose it to the rest of the family — and 
a thousand other circumstances minutely asso- 
ciated with home, were the first series of reflec- 
tions that occurred. They took then a wider 
range— our last cruize — a former voyage and 
shipwreck — my school — the progress I had made 
there, and the time I had mispent— and even all 



328 



my boyish pursuits and adventures. Thus 
travelling backwards, every past incident of my 
life seemed to glance across my recollection in 
retrograde succession; not, however, in mere 
outline, as here stated, but the picture filled up 
with every minute and collateral feature ; in 
short the whole period of my existence seemed to 
be placed before me, in a kind of panoramic 
review, and each act of it seemed to be accom- 
panied by some reflection on its cause, or its con- 
sequences : indeed many trifling events which 
had been long forgotten then crowded into my 
imagination and with the character of recent 
familiarity." 

" May not all this, he says, be some indi- 
cation of the almost infinite power of memory,* 
which we may awaken in another world, and 
thus be compelled to contemplate our past 
lives ? or, might it not in some degree war- 
rant the inference that death is only a change, or 
modification of our existence, in which there is 
no real pause, or interruption ? But, however, 
that may be, one circumstance was highly re- 
markable that the unutterable ideas which flash- 
ed into my mind were all retrospective ; yet I 
had been religiously brought up — my hopes and 
fears of the next world had lost nothing of their 
early strength, and at any other period intense 
and awful anxiety would have been excited by 

* Not memory alone : all the mental powers were combined 
in this retrospect : they always act in combination. 



S29 



the mere probability that I was floating on the 
threshold of eternity ; yet at that inexplicable 
moment when I had a full conviction that I had 
already crossed the threshold, not a single thought 
wandered into the future — I was wrapped en- 
tirely in the past. The length of time that was 
occupied by this deluge of ideas, or rather the 
shortness of time into which they were condens- 
ed, I cannot now state with precision,— -yet 
certainly two minutes could not have elapsed 
from the moment of suffocation to that of being 
hauled up."— The whole lifetime of the young 
sailor overhauled in two minutes ! 

Now observe, I pray you, for what purpose I 
have quoted this narrative. It is to illustrate a 
fact, established by ample evidence from various 
sources, that every impression once deeply made 
upon the mind is permanent and ineffaceable ; 
that though the power voluntarily to revive them 
may be lost for a time, yet the impressions them- 
selves do not perish, but remain treasured up 
within the chambers of memory and conscience 
until by some means the faculty of recollection, 
acting either voluntarily, or involuntarily, be re- 
stored. We know that a partial reviviscence of 
former forgotten impressions, of all that has ever 
been the subject of thought and feeling, may, in 
the present mode of our being, be accomplished 
in various ways. In the paroxysm of a fever, 
amidst the excitements of a dream, during some 
period when the soul is aroused to a high pitch gf 
cc2 



330 



mental activity : in these states, how often does 
it happen that long forgotten things are brought 
up to remembrance, and within the compass 
of a few moments, as in the preceding narra- 
tive, the events of a lifetime may be compressed. 
Recurring once more to the language of figure 
suggested by the text, the register of life is open- 
ed before us ; its entries start up on the succes- 
sive pages ; the illumined eye runs over them 
with more than electric rapidity ; all the past has 
a living and distinct existence in the present 
now ; — and there is only needed a power to 
sustain this energetic recollection, and the whole 
history of the individual would become an ever 
open book from which it would not be possible to 
turn the eye for a moment away. 

And this state, we repeat, does not need a 
miracle, an immediate interposition of divine 
power to produce it : it falls in with the natural 
working of the human mind ; and is only the 
proper developement of its capacities, were these 
left untrammelled by the hindrances which our 
sinful apostacy has entailed. For, who will say 
that it is either a natural or a necessary thing — 
a thing appointed by the creator and unavoidable, 
that a creature like man, endued with memory, 
reason, conscience ; accountable to God, the sub- 
ject of a divine law, and hastening on to a world 
of retribution to be judged according to his works 
— who will say that it is a natural thing, — a 
thing of creative arrangement, that his memory 



331 



should be framed to forget the larger portion of 
what had been committed to it, never to be re- 
called ? — and that the motives, and deeds of every 
day, and of every period of life, on which con- 
science passed, or ought to have passed a judge- 
ment, should be permitted to perish out of our 
BOOK, when they still continue written in the 
BOOK OF God, which shall be opened in the day 
of final judgment ? — Is it not aforehand more 
natural to suppose that God who has ordained 
that we shall appear before the judgment seat of 
Christ, has taken care that no part of the evidence 
on which the individual shall be tried shall be lost; 
and that, as this evidence lies for the most part 
within the soul itself — in its thoughts, feelings, 
motives, intentions, aims, so these will not be 
permitted to perish, but will continue to con- 
stitute a part of its very being ; a book, out 
of which nothing will be erased, which, in 
the day of doom, will be produced as the 
ground of that decision which the Eternal judge 
shall pass on the arraigned. And this conclusion 
aforehand, founded on what would seem to us 
the necessary prerequisites of accountability in 
man, is confirmed abundantly by actual observa- 
tion, which proves that impressions which seemed 
utterly lost and forgotten, can nevertheless, in 
various ways, be restored, and with all their ori- ^ 
ginal vividness. This is sometimes done by 
causes operating indirectly upon the mind, 
through its mysterious connexion with the body. 



332 

Only let some stimulant be applied to that part 
of our frame which is the more immediate seat 
of mind ; let the blood ascend to it with a feverish 
frequency ; let some stimulating gas, or liquor, or 
drug, be made to exert its influence upon it, and 
an energy is awakened, for a time, which seems 
like the energy of a higher life. Thought flows 
with unusual brilliance and rapidity ; memory 
gives up her stores from her deepest chambers ; 
imagination paints with her finest colours ; and 
the processes of reason rival the dictates of intui- 
tion. Again, we know that similar efliscts are 
produced, though better and more permanent, 
FROM MORAL CAUSES. Let the soul be moved by 
some strong passion ; let it be acted upon by the 
stirring conviction of some momentous truth — as 
when the gospel is brought home with demon- 
stration of the spirit and power, in the conver- 
sion of the sinner, we know that a peculiar clear- 
ness is then imparted to all its moral perceptions ; 
that the convert's by-gone history starts up in 
details of aggravation which were not appre- 
hended before ; that practices which formerly ap- 
peared to be indifferent, then appear exceedingly 
sinful ; in short, and to use the words of scripture, 
the convert is " quickened to a new life," by which 
he becomes qualified to feel, and judge, and 
ACT, as a moral and religious being, with a 
power never possessed before. Let us take these 
well established facts lo aid us in our conceptions 
of that change which will come upon the memory 



$33 



and conscience when the soul is arraigned at the 
judgment seat. No miracle is needed to open 
THIS BOOK, or to render legible all that is writ- 
ten in it. After the soul is set free from its 
mortal encumbrance, " in a moment, in the twink- 
ling of an eye," every impression that had been 
made upon it will spring to life again ; and in 
the more invigorated condition of its faculties, 
and under the scrutiny of an unerring judge, every 
decision which it passes upon itself, in the re- 
view of the individual acts which compose its 
moral history on earth, will be in perfect accord- 
ance with the judgment of Him who sits upon 
the throne : or, in the figure of the text, when the 
books are opened, there will not be the slightest 
discrepancy between the Book of conscience and 
the Book of omniscience ; and the judgment 
which God shall pronounce upon saint and sin- 
ner, will be identical with the judgment which 
saints and sinners shall pronounce upon them- 
selves. 

Desisting for the present from farther illustra- 
tion of this view of our moral nature, in its 
bearing upon our immortal destiny, permit me 
for a moment to indicate how a truth so awful 
should influence the whole course and habits of 
your life. Every day you are filling up the re- 
gister out of which you will be judged. I speak 
not now of the Book of the divine omniscience ; — 
I speak of the Book of which the soul itself is 
the enduring page. Remember, that from the 



334 



very constitution of your being, as moral and ac- 
countable agents, every thing that affects you in 
that character is inscribed upon it, — not in words, 
(for words how precisely soever we may try to 
define them, are, after all, very imperfect signs 
of moral qualities,) but in the living reality ; and 
though for a time you may forget it, it never 
perishes, and will certainly appear in that day 
when God shall judge the secrets of mens' hearts. 
The polluted fancy which passes and leaves its 
stain ; the malice and uncharitableness which 
rankled, though only for an hour, and were then 
rejected ; the deeper graving which the love of 
the world impressed as you were borne along 
upon its current ; the irreligious temper which 
has gained greater strength by another day's in- 
dulgence — all these constitute realities — facts in 
your personal history, qualities in your moral 
being, which, if no change be wrought on you, 
must abide in that nature for ever. Happily this 
law of our moral nature operates with equal force 
on the side of virtue and happiness. The truth 
which is sealed among your enlightened con- 
viction abides there ; — the pious affections, daily 
nurtured by grace from heaven, grow into the very 
essence of the soul itself, and partake of its im- 
mortality ; — the benevolent sentiment, and the 
benevolent deed, leave upon the soul itself an 
impression that cannot be effaced. Whatever 
may be the excellences or the defects in which 
you manifest these qualities, they are entered 



SS5 



jUst as they are, not only into the Book of om- 
niscience, but into the the Book of your own 
moral nature, out of which you will be judged 
according to your works. Is it not, therefore, a 
dictate of the highest prudence to search daily — 
hourly — the entries that are made in it; to ponder 
over them with the utmost seriousness that you 
may not proceed unthinkingly to the tribunal 
where the sentence shall be past that shall fix 
your fate for ever. " Be not deceived ; God is not 
mocked ; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall 
he also reap ; for he that soweth to the flesh, shall 
of the flesh reap corruption ; but he that soweth 
to the Spirit, shall of the Spirit reap life ever- 
lasting." 



336 



NOTES. 

*' Wo quote to Bcreen ourselves from the odium of doubtful 
opiuions " — is not the reason which has induced the author to 
subjoin the following quotations. Of the truth of the doctrine 
advanced he has no doubt. He is persuaded that it is in full 
accordance with divine teaching and the true philosophy of our 
nature. The preceeding discourse was written without the 
slightest reference to any human authority, as a simple and obvi- 
ous illustration of the text ; and the incident embodied in it may 
be taken as suitable, whatever value be attached to its authenti- 
city. But while these sheets were going through the press, he 
was pleased to find such con-oborations of a truth which had 
forcibly impressed himself, and he deemed the perusal of the 
passages in this place might be useful. 

" It is fabled ("?) of the drowning man, that in the brief space 
of time that precedes unconsciousness, every event of his past life 
passes in rapid review before his eyes, and there is certainly 
something of this hurrying, in the avenging events all having a 
connexion with his past life, which God crowds on one another 
to make the ambitious, and proud and malignant, discover that 
he has all along been ruling their destiny." — McCosh, on the 
Divine Government. 

" There are facts in the mental phenomena which give a high 
degree of probability to the conjecture, that the whole transac- 
tions of life, with the motives and moral history of each indi- 
vidual , may be recalled by a process of the mind itself, and 
placed as at a single glance, distinctly before him." • • • 
" Time past is contracted into a point; — time to come is seen 
expanding into eternal existence." — Abercrombie's Philosophy of 
the Moral Feelings. 

" Such cases contribute to make it even probable that all 
thoughts are in themselves imperishable ; and that if the intel- 
ligent faculty should be rendered more comprehensive, it would 
require only a different and apportioned organization — the body 
celestial instead of the body terrestial — to bring before every 
human soul the collective experience of his whole past existence. 



m 

And this — this, perchance, is the dreeid book of judgment in 
whose mysterious hieroghlyplics every idle word is recorded. 
Yea, in the very nature of a living spirit it may be more possible 
that heaven and earth shall pass away, than that a single act, a 
single thought, should be loosened or lost from that living chain 
of causes, to all whose links, conscious, or unconscious, the free 
will, our only absolute self, is coextensive and copresent/' — 
Coleridge. 

" One of the most startling and mysterious phenomena of our 
nature is the sudden revival of the recollection of scenes, events, 
and thoughts which had apparently been long forgotten. In 
many instances we can expleiin this by the law of association ; 
but not unfrequently the recollection flashes without v^rning 
upon the mind. It is as though we had been gazing out into the 
blank darkness, which, lighted up all at once by a sudden flash, 
should become a theatre upon which the minutest events of our 
past life are re-enactetl. » * * Phenomena of this kind, 
more or less distinctly marked, occur in the experience of 
every individual, in his ordinary and normal states. But, 
here as in so many other cases, great light is thrown upon 
the latent capabilities of the mind by its action when phy- 
sical disease has induced changes in the conditions which regulate 
its manifestations. The bodily organs, in their healthy state, 
seem to act as checks and limitations upon the operations of the 
mind, somewhat as the balance-wheel of a watch checks and re- 
gulates the uncoiling of the spring. We do not know how 
rapidly the wheels may be impelled, until this check is taken off. 
The balance wheel makes the watch move ip. time ; and it may 
be the limitations of the bodily organs only which compel the 
mind to act in reference to time. A disembodied spirit may have 
as little to do with time as with space. To all spirits, in their 
degree, as well as to the Supreme Spirit, one day may, in the 
most literal acceptation of the words, be as a thousand years, and 
a thousand years as one day ; so that in the future life we may 
continually live over again every portion of our past existence, 
not piecemeal, and fragmentarily, but as an undivided whole; just 
as the eye takes in a single glance the whole prospect before it, 
no matter though it be bounded only by the remotest distance 
from which the farthest ray of bght has come, which has been 
coasting earthward since creation." — Sayguem. 



338 



" The abstract possibility of an entire restoration of memory^ 
or of the recovery of absolutely the whole that it has ever con- 
tained, need not be questioned ; or if it were, an appeal might be 
made to every one's personal experience ; for we suppose there are 
none to whom it has not happened to have a sudden recollection 
— a flashing of some minute and unimportant incident of early life 
or childhood ; and perhaps after an interval of forty or sixty years. 
With 'Some persons these unconnected and uncalled for reminis- 
cences are frequent, and very vivid, and they seem to imply that, 
although the mind may have lost its command over the entire 
stores of memory, and may no longer be able to recal at will the 
remote passages of its history, yet that the memory itself has not 
really parted with any of its deposits, but holds them faith- 
fully, (if not obediently), in reserve against a season when the 
whole will be demanded of it. Might not the human memory be 
compared to a field of sepulture, thickly stocked with the re- 
mains of many generations 1 But of all these thousands whose 
dust heaves the surface, a few only are saved from immediate 
oblivion, upon tablets and urns ; while the many are, at present, 
utterly lost to knowledge. Nevertheless, each of the dead has 
left in that soil an imperishable germ ; and all, without distinction, 
shall another day start up and claim their dues. * * * The 
moral life is, in a peculiar sense — a HrsTORv; it is a process in- 
volving successive stages, through the course of which the unal- 
terable laws of the spiritual economy are in turn brought to bear 
upon the dispositions and conduct of those who are subject thereto. 
Take away memory, and we annul government and destroy ac- 
countability." — Physical Theory of Another Life, by Isaac Taylor. 



THE END. 



ERRATA. 



Page 97, line 9, dele is. 
" 138, " 14, for administration read admonition. 
" 221, " 21, read: — Death in our creed is dissolution, not 

destruction ; transition not annihilation. 
'* 251, last line, for heat read heart. 
Some other errors of the press have escaped, not materially 
aflfecting the sense, which the reader will easily correct. 



H 125 82 i$ 



